


The King's Laurel

by Leng_Xue



Category: Jane Eyre - All Media Types, Jane Eyre - Charlotte Brontë
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/M, Missionary Work, Rating May Change, Religion, Slow Burn, Spiritual
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-08
Updated: 2018-06-15
Packaged: 2018-12-26 00:28:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 24,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12047505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leng_Xue/pseuds/Leng_Xue
Summary: A psychological tale of emotion and reason, their love, lust, and everything in between. Edith Richardson is no lost sheep, and soon, she learns her local parson is no shepherd.





	1. The Return

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which I attempt to write St. John's fate differently. There aren't many fanfics about our favorite parson, so I decided to have a go at it. Please leave a review if you have the time.
> 
> Edit 1/27/18: Spruced up a bit of the contact between Edith and St. John in the first section.
> 
> Edit 6/18/18: Cleaned up bits and pieces of Chapters 1-8. No major overhauls, just grammar that jumped out at me.

There was a whisper in Morton that pervaded all households.

Parson Rivers was in want of a wife.

His cousin, Jane Eyre, had rejected him.  The small ex-schoolmistress who taught the farm girls of the community with little pay and even less thanks was brave indeed.  How she would ever find a better, more handsome man to marry was beyond them.

He would go to India alone.

Sunday service was unusually tedious this week.  Perhaps it was due to the parson’s disgruntlement with his private state of affairs.  A stormy miasma hung about his head all through the morning even though his face did not betray any knowledge of it.  Nay, he seemed as oblivious and blind as a child to its parents’ love.

St. John was always in control of his emotions, but that was just what he thought. His stormy blue gaze swept around the congregation, clouded with the fire of sermon, the toil of his earthly labor. Indeed, as their eyes locked, Edith could see the beads of crystal perspiration circle his brow—like tears of blood from the thorns that plagued his mind.

It had been years since they had last seen each other. He found something within her, something that told him even his secrets were no mystery to discerning eyes. That the windows he held so guardedly might not betray him, but the rest of his body would. He matched her, sky to sea, and there could be nothing more. He ripped his eyes from hers, the flush of his neck rising to his cheeks as he continued.

Embarrassment. Resentment at the distasteful contact they had shared.

It was all too telling, even a look as innocent as that was nothing short of blasphemy in the temple of God. To allow her to peer so guilelessly within his soul  _here_ was unacceptable.

His voice rose in a renewed swell of sermon, impassioned and longing for the sweet purity of his station. Miss Eyre had certainly done a number on him—not from love but through sacrifice. Should St. John sail to India half a soul rather than one, he would have an incomplete canvas to offer to the Lord. In sacrificing her love to a mortal, she left none of her heart for Him in that eternal paradise they longed for.

St. John cared for her soul.  Perhaps he saw her refusal as that ultimate defiance, the straw that would finally earn the Lord’s scorn.  Should his love be lost, it would never return.

That day’s closing prayer rang ominously.  The boom of his voice rolled like thunder cresting on the tides of humanity.  When she stood from her pew, her bonnet and cloak fastened, she felt his gaze follow her out the door.

…

No ear, old or small, was immune to gossip.  Not in a small town like Morton where little changed except for the generations of the families that had inhabited it.

Edith Richardson had arrived in Morton the night before, released from the drudgery of employment at her old boarding school at last.  There had never been so fine a summer as that of which she would not have to look to the next fall season with groans of scholarly pain.  She was a free woman as of now, educated in all rights and a teacher of three years.

The first thing she heard was of Miss Eyre’s presence—and the contemptuous silence with which St. John treated her for the last three days.  He spoke to her in a normal, moderate fashion at all times, public or private, but there was little doubt about the ice that masked the extension of his kinship to one so dear to him as his cousin.

Naturally, Edith could not help but conclude (along with everyone else) that there had been a falling out between them.  And what other rift would there be between two people of the opposite gender than that of marriage?  They were cousins who had been living in the same home for months now.  Naturally, things would progress to this state.

She wondered if it would be wise to visit Marsh End with tensions like this.  Mary and Diana had invited her for tea to welcome her back through a missive delivered by a farm girl.  It had been so long since she had seen the Rivers family that she could swear they were all nearly different people from the ones that laid in her memory.  From the glimpse she managed to catch of them at church, Mary and Diana had outgrown their soft teenage beauty, emerging to the world as handsome women of maturity.  St. John managed to look even more distinguished than he had as a young Cambridge scholar, though she attributed this mainly to the fact that he wore his fine parson’s attire instead of the standard gentlemen’s clothing.  The black suited him well.

Jane Eyre was something of an oddity, however: she did not fit in with the lovely, well-organized family.  The image recalled itself to her mind’s eye—sitting at the far end of the pew that held the two Rivers women was a brown-haired girl of Edith’s age.  There was a mixture of reverence and misery on her homely features as she stared up at St. John, hypnotized by his voice.

As Edith approached the old house on the moor, she could see that this expression had not ceased.  That same girl, Jane Eyre, stood at the apex of the knoll, her mind wandering through the low grasses.

“Good day, Miss Eyre!” she called, lifting a gloved hand in greeting.

Jane started, and waved back.  There was a twitch of confusion in her features, no doubt due to the unfamiliarity with which she beheld Edith.  They had never been introduced, after all.

Still, Jane met her halfway, stopping short in the middle of the dirt path.

“It’s so nice to finally meet you, Miss Eyre.  I am Edith Richardson, the daughter of Samuel Richardson.”  She gestured over the vales in the distance toward the general direction of her home, Winfield Grange.  “I’ve come to Marsh End to visit.”

“Ah, yes.  Mary and Diana let me know you’d be here for afternoon tea,” she said.

There was a slight pause as they strolled to the house together, Edith turning her face to enjoy the sunlight.

“I’ve heard you were the schoolmistress at Morton.  How did you find our little scholars, Miss Eyre?  Quite a handful, were they not?”

“Yes, well, in the beginning.  They improved much over the course of these last months.  I should think they hold even greater potential than they do now.  Their work will not go without fruit to bear.”

Edith smiled.  “I agree.  Thank you for your care, the Lord knows these girls should receive every advantage they can.  The education you provided will broaden their minds as well as those of the children they will have.  All for the better of man.”

“Please, do not thank me.  These girls deserve all the best.  I came to learn this in my time with them.”

They came to the door then, and Jane opened it, calling to the residents of the house.  Mary and Diana came to the fore, greeting her with kisses and exclamations of pleasure.  They were at a loss at how she had grown so tall and womanly; their eyes roved over her without reserve, glowing with joy and pride that she had not known for so many moons.  Dainty fingers worked at the tie of her cloak, revealing a slender form clothed in quality linen.  Gray and fashionable but only just so.

And when her bonnet fell away, there was St. John.

He stood in the doorway, his manner severe, his jaw set beneath snow-white skin.  He betrayed no surprise at her appearance, having studied her so thoroughly from his pulpit earlier that day.

A hush descended on them as he stepped forward and took her hand, laying a kiss on his own knuckle.

“It has been quite some time since you’ve come here, Miss Richardson,” he said without preamble.  His words were simple and blunt—just the way she remembered.

“I’ve rectified that issue now, Mr. Rivers, and I will do everything in my power to prevent it from reoccurring in the future.”  She smiled and Mary and Diana giggled.

“I should hope you will not be so cruel to us again, Edith!” Diana said.

“Yes, else we _will_ march you from Winfield Grange whenever we please,” Mary finished.

The three of them laughed again and swept off to the parlor, the last two occupants of the house trailing silently after them.

The tea laid forgotten on the table, lost amidst the reminiscing of the young women.  They recounted their childhood together to Jane, having been friends in the days before Edith attended boarding school seven years ago.

“Well, I suppose you were more like my nannies,” Edith giggled, “You were women already!  I was just a child!”

“A very mature one at that,” Mary countered, “Entirely too smart-mouthed for your own good.”

“Who did she learn it from, I wonder?” Diana said.

The entire party quivered with mirth.  All except one person who sat stirring his tea, a slight smile on his face.

The cool marble of his features was fascinating to watch.  They rearranged themselves as if they were nothing more than pieces on a chessboard—so precisely he formed his lips and the corners of his eyes that all the warmth was lost in him doing so.  Whatever humor he had gathered from their little conversation could not be seen.

It was then that Edith realized he was merely being polite for the sake of his sisters.  Jane, the relative he possessed but did not love, he tolerated.  It was Edith who was intruding his sanctuary.

He really had not changed at all from his college days.  As a girl, Edith had seldom seen him at Moor House.  This was partially due to the fact that he was often away for the academic quarter but mostly the result of his antisocial behavior.  He had never really taken to making new friends, but then again, she was a child and he had been a man for some time.  They had never been in the same sphere at all.

It did not mean he could not at least be _friendly_.

She gave him a full look—one of knowing and enough gaiety to put him on edge—with a smile curled on her mouth.

“Shall we go for a walk?” she suggested.

It was a full 20 minutes later that she and St. John wandered apart from the other three women, so lost they were in a conversation of Goethe’s Faust, which they were currently studying.  Jane apparently continued to endeavor in German even while Hindustani was her main focus.  It was commendable to have such vigor in one’s studies.  Edith never had enough determination to practice a language to completion on her own time, much preferring to read or sing.

She was much less a scholar than they.  Not as learned nor as mannerly and sophisticated.  All her seven years had been nothing but to feed her slothful behaviors.

“And yet you are thinking.  Even now,” St. John said.

Edith turned to look at him.  His gait was casual, contrasting harshly with the tight fold of his arms behind his back.  There was no awkwardness, only severity.

“Yes.  It’s all I seem to do as of late.”

“From a lack of avocation?  Have you no plans for future occupation?”

“No, I always think.  My mind can’t seem to function any other way.  I’ve been a teacher these past few years.  I’d like to think that deserves some respite, no?  Now, after leaving the seminary, I’m going to travel and then find a place to settle.”

“Travel?  To where?”

“Cambridge.  A rather interesting coincidence, Mr. Rivers.”

He merely nodded, the long strands of hair at his forehead fluttering in the wind.  The gale drowned out the sounds of Jane’s voice as she talked animatedly with Mary, a delighted grin spread across her lips.  “Might I ask the reason why a young woman such as yourself would be traveling there?”

“To visit my cousin.  He is teaching mathematics during the summer term.”

“A professor then.  He must be quite distinguished.”

She raised her hand to her lips, laughing with no small amount of humor.  “Should you ever meet him, I think you might form a vastly different opinion, Mr. Rivers.”

“Then I shall cease this line of conversation.”

That suited her just fine.  She had other things on her mind in any case.

“I never thought you a parson.  Pray tell, why ever did you take up the cloth?”

“To deliver God’s will to the undeveloped regions of the world.  In the past, I considered a number of different professions, but found that the missionary’s purpose suited all of these needs.”

She raised a brow but nodded.  “An admirable goal to be sure.  But…”

She paused, wondering if it would be rude to say it.

“What?” he inquired.  “You are silent.”

“I hope you will not take offense.”

He shook his head, scrutinizing her with a pale eye.

“You do not seem so content.  Here.  In Morton.  Is that why you wish to go to India?”

“England thrives on the light of Christianity.  I am not required here where the souls of many are already saved.  If I were to exert my powers in India, I would be able to turn pagans from their lawless, untruthful idols and deliver the most exacting of God’s crusades.”

“Powerful words, Mr. Rivers.  I wish you all the best, though I do not think you will need it.”

“Oh?  Why is that?”

“Because I think you will be able to rise over whatever comes, well wishes or not.”

He did not stiffen at her presumptuousness.  They were the truth, and both of them knew it.  In the few times they had met, they had gathered enough of each other’s personalities through physiognomy and intuition alone.

The sunlight was dimming fast, bleeding out of the vibrant summer hues at an alarming pace.  Edith had not noticed that time had passed so quickly.  The five of them rerouted themselves to the same aimless destination, resuming their merrymaking as she looked homeward.

“Must you go so soon, Edith?” Diana asked, following her line of sight.

“Unfortunately so.  Father will be waiting with supper.”

“Then we shall walk you there.”

Edith shook her head.  “There is no need, Diana.  Besides…I was thinking you should all come to Winfield tomorrow.  Father and I would be delighted to have you.”

She took Jane’s hand. “Especially you, Miss Eyre.  I don’t think you’ve managed to get in a word all day!”

“But of course, Miss Richardson.  It was wonderful meeting you,” Jane replied.

Edith liked her already.  The other girl’s pink mouth quirked happily, and she released her, drifting towards home.  They waved her off, St. John tipping his head as she followed the well-worn path.  By the time she crested the next valley, they were gone.


	2. Cambridge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everyone! I realize that Jane Eyre takes place during the reign of King George III, but I’m placing it in the early Victorian era.

Mr. Samuel Richardson was the sole inhabitant of the country house eight miles from Morton.  His servants lived in a separate unit built 150 years before by his great-grandfather, the first of his line to construct a home in north England as landed gentry.

At the time, the Rivers family owned the vast moorland…as well as its incumbents.  To have another clan of similar stature occupy that same little piece of the world they called their own was not to their favor.  Before resentment could brew, the Richardsons sent a peace offering in the form of their loveliest daughter.  Dull and dimwitted as she was, the head of the Rivers house found no faults and married her.  They produced five sons by some sheer stroke of luck, allowing a greater consolidation of their rule over Morton.  The Richardsons were allowed to build their grange and all was well.

An additional point of interest was the fact that the two lines had not intertwined since.  As local legend goes, Morton thrived in the years afterward, peasants and rulers alike profiting from the trade created by the union.  The connections the Richardsons brought with them negated the need to strengthen their ties with the Rivers further.

Edith closed the thick lineage tome and replaced it on the shelf.  The floodgates of memory were sufficiently reopened, and she was finished basking in the light of history she had casted from her mind at Silsden Seminary.

Samuel was sitting in his rocking chair, dozing lightly in the warm noon sunlight, his hands folded over his protruding stomach.  When standing, he towered over her by nearly a head despite his advanced age and steel gray hair, the icy blue hues of his gaze interspersed with warmth many men of his station did not possess.  The jovial lines around his thin mouth betrayed a lifetime of laughter; sternness was something he never managed to uphold even as a parent.

Edith touched his shoulder, shaking him gently awake.

“Father, it’s time for luncheon.”

The old man blinked sleepily and ran a hand down his rugged features.  “Oh, dear.  Already…?”

“Yes, sir.”

They sat down at the well-worn dining table, Margaret, one of the two servants at Winfield laying out their course.  The gnarled elderly woman had served them for nearly 25 years, preparing meals diligently and with great care.  Edith smiled at her in thanks, cutting into her beef wellington eagerly.

“I’m afraid I won’t be joining you in Cambridge, sweeting.  Your old father has some things to attend to,” Samuel said, taking a sip of his tea.

“Such as what?  I won’t be able to enjoy myself properly without you,” she said.

He chuckled, stroking her hand.  “Sly girl.  I will not be brought to guilt by the likes of you.  If you must know, I have business correspondence to catch up on.  Next week, I will meet with our lawyer to work things out.”

“Is it serious?”

“No, no.  Not at all.  Don’t worry yourself over it.  Besides, you young’uns don’t need an old man like me breathing down your necks.  Have fun—I know Theophilus will take good care of you.”  He sniffed proudly.  “He’s always been a good boy.  Even when he was a child, he was considerate about everyone else.  To think that now he’s a professor of mathematics!  At one of the finest universities in the world no less!”

He smacked the table in excitement, Edith laughing along.

“My dear, won’t you consider marrying him?  He’d make a fine husband.  I know that he cares greatly for you.”

“Oh, Father.  We love each other as a brother and sister.  Theo would never propose marriage to _me_.”

“And that is the trouble: I will be hard pressed to find a better man than your cousin.  I won’t be satisfied with another son-in-law unless he exceed Theophilus in every way.”

“Then I think you will never find a suitable husband for me, Father.  I will remain a single woman forevermore!”

The pair of them dissolved into a cacophony of heartfelt laughter, Samuel’s chuckles rumbling like organ pipes.  His chest vibrated with the exertion where Edith’s fluttered gently, the sweet sound of her voice riding the air like wind chimes in spring.

Samuel recovered first, a thoughtful expression on his face.  The talk of the upcoming excursion reminded him of something.  He washed the last of his mirth away with tea and cleared his throat.  “Mr. Rivers is also journeying with you, is he not?”

St. John had broached the subject the other day during a visit to the grange, concerned over the convenience (and propriety of such a thing).  For them to travel to Cambridge together would be ideal—the cost would be cheaper if halved and the journey safer if they moved in numbers.

“Yes, but I wonder how he will take it once he learns you will not be joining us.”

“He will have nothing to say.  Theophilus informed me that he will be escorting you to the university and back if need be.”

He drew the letter from his pocket and slid it to her.  It had come in the post just that morning.  After a quick perusal, she raised a brow.  Samuel informed her cousin of his absence in advance.

“You’ve been planning to visit the lawyer’s office for some time, Father.  Why did you not tell me sooner?”

“It slipped my mind until I saw you speak of it with Mr. Rivers.  I _am_ rather forgetful these days, you know,” he chortled.

“Oh, wouldn’t I.  I’ve lived half of my life with it, sir.”

“Cheeky thing.”

Edith rolled her eyes and finished up her plate.

…

Mary, Diana, and Jane implored her to stay in Morton longer.  Not a week had gone by and she was already to leave them again.  They had visited each other daily, recounting tales of their students, of dancing and singing, and warm nights by the fireplace after a hard day’s work.

The flames of affection rekindled between Edith and the two Rivers women, stronger than before from her new maturity and worldliness.  Their bond, tempered by knowledge, was fastened securely by the long rambling talks they shared over the vast flatlands of their home.

With Jane, the first bud of friendship bloomed.  In so short a time, Edith and Jane took their first step to acquaintance with the help of their mutual friends.  The small, strange young woman of her own age and experiences managed to worm her way into her heart, and she was all the happier for it.  One could never suffer from a surplus of friends.

“Fear not, my brave sisters, I will return as soon as my cousin deems it necessary to remove me from Cambridge!”

“Then he shall never let you go, Edith,” Diana said, “We wouldn’t if we could keep you.”

“Well, you may keep me for all time when I return.  I fear that you will regret your words then.”

She kissed her, then Mary, and gave them swift hugs.  Jane came to her, and she held her hands, dotting a peck on the side of her face.

“You must be off.  Long goodbyes mean longer journeys, do they not?” Jane said.

Edith casted her gaze to the distance where St. John stood solitarily, the black of his cloak waving in the morning breeze.  Something about the way the musculature in his jaw tensed reminded her of the void, the nothingness of space and sky.  He was the only spot of darkness in a sea of light.

“Yes, I’m afraid so,” she said distractedly.

At precisely 8 o’clock, she and St. John walked to Whitcross, fully expecting Theophilus to be waiting.  They were silent for the most part, each rather occupied with the weight of their luggage.  Edith had decided to travel light with just enough dresses to last for a washing cycle over the course of the next week or two.  She did not have a definite date on which she would return to Morton, but she knew that she had packed adequately enough in all of her other toiletries.

St. John brought even less than she did, and offered to carry some of her baggage because of it.  When he went to India as a missionary, he would have to learn how to live with the barest of necessities.  Edith thought his minimalism fitted his vocation quite well.

It was an hour’s walk to the sign that marked the crossroads as ‘Whitcross.’  A large black stagecoach stood at the foot of it, its four snorting horses pawing restlessly at the ground.

Clearly, Theophilus wanted to make good time.

The tall, pale figure of her handsome cousin came bounding out of the coach, his brunette curls bouncing about his wild head as he approached them.  Despite the sharp features and stern, square jaw, his green eyes twinkled with boyish delight; it had been well over a year since they had last seen each other.

“Theo!” she cried, dropping her portmanteau.

“Edith!  Oh, it’s been ages!”  He picked her up and swung her around, beaming all the while. 

St. John merely stood at the side of the lane, shifting his gaze to his shirt cuffs.

“This is Mr. St. John Rivers, Morton’s parson.  He will be joining us today.  Mr. Rivers, this is Theophilus Clayton, my cousin.  He is a professor of multivariable calculus and Euclidean geometry.”

They shook hands.

“How do you do, Mr. Rivers?  I take it Cambridge is your alma mater?”

“Yes.  I am a graduate of Magdalene College.  My bachelor’s is in theology.”

He was rather impressed; he had not expected to find someone so educated in the countryside.  Not all clerics who studied at the major universities came out with a degree.  “A degree holder!  What year?”

“1839.”

“Two years my senior.  Excellent, now I will have a source for _good conversation_ these next two days.”

Edith smacked his arm lightly, and the three of them packed the luggage into the coach.  Theophilus helped her inside and followed along with St. John.  He tapped the roof twice and they were off.

The ride was fairly uneventful.  A vast majority of it was spent catching up on the listlessness of their summers, which Theophilus lamented because the summer term was about to start.  He had already begun compiling notes and assignments for his course and sent in an application for a teaching assistant.  He attempted to draw St. John into the conversation a few times, but was summarily rebuffed by clipped answers and the fact that his head was always turned out to the window.

St. John had been in a dreary mood since they left home.  The parson, while cold, was never nearly this rude to strangers.  Edith looked between the men a couple times, relieved that her cousin was not too offended by his behavior.  Something was weighing heavily on St. John’s mind, drowning him deep in his own despair.  He was at war with his entire being, battling with the mind and the body.  For what reason, she did not know, but it was a matter that transcended all aspects of simple personal strife—for what mortal despondency could trouble the soul?  A question of eternity played about his lips in the whispers of prayer he indulged, snaking its way down his chin and into his clasped hands.  His eyes faced the full intensity of the Lord’s rays, and it was then that he appeared…foreign.

He was no animal nor man.  Instead, the pure light bathed him in an angelic glow, shining off of his golden hair and silken eyelashes.  He was skin was as smooth and as princely as marble with no warmth to spare.

Edith casted her gaze away, feeling as if she was intruding on some private image that was not meant for her.  It was only at nightfall that she ventured a smile, whereupon he aided her out of the coach.  They had stopped for a rest at an inn along the main road.

By the next evening, Cambridge rolled into full view, the magnificent edifices of the university overtaking the rounded knolls of the countryside from whence they came.  Edith could not help but marvel at its beauty, so stately the architecture was—a far cry from the mousy, gray houses at Morton.

“A beauty, isn’t she?” Theophilus murmured.

St. John broke out of his self-imposed isolation to join in the sightseeing.

“Undoubtedly,” he said, “When everything else is gone, these walls will still be standing.”

Edith could do no more than nod mutely, the sun and moon in her eyes.

…

“Why ever did Mr. Rivers not attend St John’s College?  I think he would have fit in well there, chérie.”

“That is the worst pun I’ve ever heard you utter, Theo.”

“What?  I think it suits him better than Magdalene!  Really!”

“Then I dare you to say that to him when we see him next.”

Theophilus set her trunks at the foot of her bed, raising his hands in surrender.  “I don’t think he’ll welcome the teasing.  He’s rather…apathetic to humor, after all.”

“There are so many words you could use to describe him and you choose ‘apathetic?’”

He smirked.  “Anything else would be rude to say in front of a lady.”

Edith made a face at him and began unpacking her things.  “Mr. Rivers is a good man.  It’s just that he’s been rather unhappy recently.”

“Oh?  And why is that?”

Edith paused, deliberating over whether or not she should tell her cousin the particulars of St. John’s attachment with Jane Eyre.  On one hand, it wasn’t really their business, on the other, Theophilus was something of a blabber-mouth when he spoke without thinking.

“I’ll tell you if you promise not to say a word about it to anyone.”

He nodded.

“A few days before I arrived home, Mr. Rivers proposed to his young cousin.  She rejected him, and they have been quite distant since.  I have a feeling that this sad state of affairs has something to do with his current demeanor.”

“Dear God, I suppose if I was in that situation, I’d be foul as well.  A few drinks definitely wouldn’t hurt the man since the wounds are so fresh.”

“If you can convince him.  I don’t think he enjoys drinking.”  Edith closed her bureau, smoothing her fingers down her dress.

“Ready?” he asked.

She took his extended elbow, and they strolled down the corridor, headed straight for the mess hall, their groaning stomachs nagging for supper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> St John’s College and Magdalene College are constituents of Cambridge University.


	3. Connection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Sorry for the wait! Life’s been getting in the way recently. Thanks for being patient, everyone.

The fellows of Trinity College rarely interacted with those of their rivaling class at Magdalene, a smaller residence often made up of the lower dregs of society.

Such a contrast was never so clear when she and Theophilus strode through the street between the two colleges during their "grand tour." One side contained almost exclusively well-dressed gentlemen in the highest of London fashions while the other held shabby looking scholars with worn coats and frayed shoes. As they traveled deeper into Magdalene territory, her cousin babbling on about the history of the buildings and the legends associated with the land, she spotted a small group of men lounging on the grass beneath a tall oak.

St. John was among them, somewhat unsurprisingly. There were not many students at Cambridge at this time of year—many were home or had not arrived for the quarter.

Theophilus grinned widely upon spotting him, adjusting the brim of his hat to block out the sunlight so he could attain a better view.

"I was hoping it would be some time before we would see him again," he commented.

"Don't be cruel, Theo," she scolded, frowning.

"Very well. For you, chérie."

One gentleman sat up and waved at them, recognizing Theophilus. He stood out brilliantly from the greenery around him, a shock of flaming red hair and mutton chops drawing Edith's attention to his round face and flushed skin. The day was apparently too hot for him.

"That's Horace Pitt. He was the 12th Wrangler of the mathematics tripos during my year. We became friends upon entering the university as faculty. He currently conducts lectures on non-linear algebra."

"Twelfth? I didn't think the university would accept a Wrangler ranked below fifth place as a teacher."

"Well, I suppose I've debunked that myth for you then."

As they approached, the outline of the four bodies became sharper. They stood and stretched, brushing grass clippings from their coats as surreptitiously as they could, their brows rising at the sight of her.

"You never told us you were bringing such a beauty to our humble little school, Clayton," one said. He was tall, even taller than her cousin and St. John, with dark hair and gray eyes. His appearance was pleasing but his clothes were a bit too rumpled to be presentable.

"It's only you who wasn't aware in that case—and I'll have you know she won't be charmed so easily. Friends, this is Edith Richardson, my cousin from Morton."

Edith gave a curtsey.

"Gerard Harvey, at your service," the flatterer said, kissing her hand swiftly.

"Horace Graham Pitt." Theophilus' portly associate gave her a nervous smile, sliding his gloves around in his sweaty hands.

The final man nodded politely, his black hair gleaming in the sunlight. The neat mustache that covered his tan skin was waxed and oiled to perfection. His frame was strong beneath his suit, indicating that he was most likely a sportsman. "Jeremiah Rockwell. A pleasure, Miss Richardson—you're all Clayton's been talking about since  _Easter_."

"Oh, dear. I knew he was eager—he hired a stagecoach with four horses, you know?" she said lightly.

"I cannot be blamed. Travel is quite tiresome," Theophilus replied, "The less time it takes, the better."

St. John inclined his head to Edith. "We meet again, Miss Richardson."

"Good morning. I hope you've recovered from the journey?"

"I am fine. It was of no consequence."

"What, you took ill, Rivers?" Harvey questioned. He smirked at the blond parson, perhaps ready to chastise him for any outward show of weakness. Rather classic male behavior, especially among the youth at university.

"No, not at all. It was taxing on all of us."

Harvey, Pitt, and Rockwell were mutual acquaintances of St. John and her cousin, and they were pleased that they finally had the chance to introduce them. Edith was glad for it—she had never seen her cousin in his true element, among friends that he could be himself around. As for St. John, he had no one his age to speak to and share his thoughts with at Morton; she saw that he was noticeably more relaxed than he had been the past few days. His back, though ram-rod straight, carried an air of gentleness about it. The curves of muscle in his skin had melted like soft ice, leaving a spring stream running in his wake.

Rockwell cuffed his shoulder fondly, unbothered by his lack of laughter or the stiffness of his lineaments. It was quite clear that these men had known each other for some time.

They strolled towards the river Cam, Pitt suggesting they go punting. The weather was fair and a breeze had just picked up, cooling the party sufficiently. If it lasted, a boat ride would be ideal.

"I haven't punted for ages. Not since graduating," Theophilus said, "What do you say, Edith?"

As the lady, she got first choice. She agreed and the six of them stood at the riverbank, scouring the multitude of boats lining its shore. Rockwell selected a newer one, paying the master at the stand a small sum to rent it.

"Now, who'll do the honors?" Pitt said, looking between his friends. Out of them, he was the smallest and least exercised. Edith doubted he was ready for that to change.

Harvey slung off his coat and rolled up his sleeves. "If you'll excuse my lack of propriety, Miss Richardson, I would be pleased."

They loaded themselves into the little wooden device and set off, drifting slowly down the Cam. Theophilus fussed over her a bit, wanting to shield her from the heat, but she soothed his fears, assuring him of her comfort. His actions instead drew a great deal of laughter from his friends; even St. John chuckled, to her shock.

Amid the low wisps of shared conversation, the beautiful greens and reds of the campus glowed vivaciously, drawing her awe to the magnificence of God's natural grace. Weeping willows shrouded the hill along the side of St John's College, the grand building blending easily into the background, still and quiet as the smooth water at her side.

"Here comes the Bridge of Sighs. Look upon this work, ye mighty!" Harvey cried. He scraped the paddle at the bottom of the river to slow the boat, grinning as Edith stared in rapture.

"And despair," St. John finished.

"A fixed version of Bysshe Shelley's Ozymandias. Clever," Edith said.

"You have read his works?" St. John asked.

"Some. Not all, unfortunately. I should have wished it; he was a fascinating poet."

"Quite. If ever a mind should be cherished, it would be Shelley's."

"I didn't think you of all people would approve of him. He was something of a…scandalous man."

"His intellect is separate from his actions. One can admire a single characteristic of a person while ignoring the rest, so to speak."

"That is true. Often, we must distinguish one thing from another—the person from the brain, the motivation from the deed, or else we would be driven beyond distraction in finding the best parts of someone's personality. It is logical, the distinction we make, even if it is instinctual in practice."

Edith smiled, feeling the edges of her bonnet sway with the playful air. St. John's stoicism transformed, and he regarded her strangely now, a peculiar glimmer tinting the blues she found herself admiring. He did not look nearly so reserved like this, with his lips parted and the corners of his mouth smooth. To anyone else, he was another young man enjoying the prime of his life, his heart and thoughts unsullied with worry or plans for the future.

But the void consumed it all too soon, and the moment passed. The  _parson_  sat before her once again, his nature conquered by a heavenly hand.

"A profound observation. How interesting that you would say those two words together in the same sentence: 'logic' and 'instinct.' Each lie on the very opposite of the spectrum, and yet they cannot do without the other. There must be instinct where there is logic no matter how extreme the case."

"You sound troubled by this, Mr. Rivers."

His hand tightened on the knee of his trousers.

"Forgive me. I was drawn into other thoughts."

But she levelled him with a kind look. "These are the things that make us human. You may deny this and strive for something greater, something higher, but you can't. Not until you arrive on death's door, free of mortal limitations, or God builds us to a higher purpose. For now, you are just a man."

He was taken aback by her words. "I've run this line of reasoning through my own heart, put it to use in my own hands, but it does not comfort. May I ask how you came across this rationale?"

"I've made mistakes, Mr. Rivers. I worked it out back and forth, and it helped me."

Despite the close quarters between the members of the boat, no one had heard their conversation. All but Harvey were engrossed in their own chatter of the quality of a local bar, the latter staring out over the water in a pensive manner.

This was rather relieving to the girl. When the ride came to an end, she was sure she had stepped out of a confessional rather than a punt.

She did not think she was the one in need of cleansing.

…

There was silence between them for the rest of the day. Through luncheon, they did not share a word. The sun hit its apex and descended, drawing Artemis to the sky to bless the night with darkness and cool. The cohort took supper, and Edith remained at her cousin's side all through it, untroubled.

She could not say the same for St. John. She could guess that it was her words that weighed so heavily on his mind. Try as he might, his soul spoke so plainly to her, even through the mask he squared over his features. The rest of the men were more opaque, uncaring in the matters of the spirit. Perhaps it was because of this attitude that she could not read them so easily. Or it might be a matter of familiarity; she knew Rivers and Theophilus far better than she did them.

Why was it then that she could not comprehend her dear cousin as easily as she could the parson?

This question unraveled itself like a ball of string in her own golden maze, furling and unfurling, brushing against an elusive answer that was always just out of her reach. Try as she might, she could not find the exit.

At the end of the night, the six of them ended up in Pitt's cramped apartment huddled about a card table. Edith was surprised to learn that St. John and Harvey had actually been roommates during their school years. The two men could not be more dissimilar, and yet they had remained friends for over a decade.

Pitt and Rockwell were an even greater dichotomy. Though they were a scholar and an athlete, respectively, each had managed to find kinship through their hobbies. Rockwell regaled the tale of how he, Pitt, and Harvey met, his eyes misted with memory.

Apparently, they became acquainted over shared drinks in the early morning of a May Ball several years ago, all too poor to buy their own whiskey. Rockwell's dancing partner had left him for another gentleman while Harvey had sneaked away from his, disinterested in the repetitive ballroom rounds. Similarly, Pitt's date had gone off on her own with friends, leaving him single. The three coalesced to one of the billiards tables and bought the strongest alcohol their combined funds could handle. One dip into the Cam later, they emerged sober and completely fraternized.

"Baptized as brothers. I told you the river was holy!" Theophilus said, eliciting a jumble of smart remarks from the men.

Her cousin came into the picture later, meeting the others through Pitt. St. John had left shortly after graduation and only maintained correspondence through letters. The few times he had come to Cambridge had not allowed sufficient opportunity for them to introduce Theophilus until now.

"What I'm wondering is how you didn't get caught when you went swimming. Weren't there punts and other people about?" she said, a finger on her chin.

Rockwell only chortled. "Do you think we were the only ones who were doing it? If everyone's swimming, then no one is—the faculty didn't even bother."

She covered her giggles with a hand. "Touché, Mr. Rockwell."

They spent the night duking it out over Whist. The men had smoked so much that a thick plume of cigar smoke covered the ceiling at midnight, nearly suffocating them all until St. John flung open the windows, allowing the ghostly vapors to rise into the night. When the wind became too cold for them to handle, they shut it and the cycle began anew. Five rounds of window antics later, it was nearly dawn. Theophilus escorted Edith back to the Trinity dorms after a merry goodbye, surprisingly alert after all of the beer he had. No one indulged in hard liquor because of her presence, which struck her as extremely kind and courteous. She had expected them to throw a party to celebrate their reunion. In their own way, they had, but it was tweaked to accommodate her.

"I'm glad they didn't think me a nuisance, Theo," she murmured.

The halls were still dark. Theophilus guided her by candlelight, the musky scent of melted wax invading her sluggish lungs.

"Of course they wouldn't," he replied, "You're far too attractive for them to scorn."

"Oh, don't joke. I'm being serious. Your friends are exceedingly kind."

"You know what they say, chérie, birds of a feather…"

She huffed in annoyance, and he chuckled.

"I wouldn't have introduced them to you had they not been gentlemen," he said seriously, "I would never forgive myself if you felt uncomfortable at Cambridge. This place is my second home, and I wanted to share it with you. That's why I asked you to come."

Edith squeezed his arm. "Thank you, Theo. Being here is better than  _Christmas_."

"You can't mean that."

The candlelight breathed life into his milky features, his smile leaping out at her, flourishing with the bounty of his joy. His captivating eyes shimmered like emeralds in flame. Briefly, it occurred to her that she would never have this moment again. Emotion was such a fleeting thing, so fickle in its attachments that she knew what they shared right now was something that only came around once in a lifetime.

He left her at her door, and she let her fingers graze the bottom of her chin in wonderment.

She asked God how her uncomplicated cousin, as dear to her as a brother, had grown so handsome overnight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tripos: AKA Cambridge’s word for a final exam that will earn the taker an undergraduate degree.  
> Wrangler: Ranking system for the tripos in mathematics. In this case, twelfth wrangler means Pitt attained the twelfth highest score out of all who took the exam that year.  
> Punting: Popular pastime at the university. Students rent “punts” or boats with a raised platform at one end for the rower to stand on. A long pole is used to steer.  
> Bridge of Sighs: Bridge that runs over the Cam between two courts of St John’s College.  
> May Balls: Set of balls that take place in June (ironically enough) celebrating the end of final exams.


	4. Awakening

It was easy to fall into step with the routine she built at Cambridge. Life was so different at the university, so engaging and carefree that her days at the seminary were casted out of her memory as if they had never existed. Even Samuel and Winfield Grange paled a bit in comparison because of how new everything at the college was.

She spent days perusing the Trinity library during the hours she was away from the men. Theophilus rarely had any time to himself let alone the opportunity to mingle with his friends now that they were together, so she separated herself from him as often as she could. He deserved the privacy and peace of mind he needed to enjoy himself.

More often than not, that meant she was left completely  _unsupervised_. She skipped through empty halls, looked through the common rooms, and pretended she was a student in the vast lecture buildings, her imagination alight with all that could have been had she been a pupil of this glorious institution. At times, she wrote on the chalkboards in Latin or rearranged the specimens on the science shelves like a professor. How she wondered about all the information that was shared in the vast echelons of Cambridge's offices. She thought of the books that were hidden away in its archives, waiting to be unearthed so that the person who read it would be bequeathed with its knowledge. The finest minds of each generation were trained here or at Oxford, every resource known to man at the barest tips of their fingers. To take even the smallest part of that would have been her greatest wish as a woman.

When she went back to her room and reminisced over her mundane home life, she meditated on whether or not she was meant to serve a higher purpose. God had rolled the dice at her birth and deemed her fit for the fate of an educator, a position that was neither demeaning nor undesirable given the financial state of her family. The Richardsons were once wealthy and well-respected, but they had lost much of their influence over the centuries; this was the best she could ever hope for in life. Educating children meant giving England greater hope for advancement in the future, an admirable position in spite of everything she could say otherwise.

Somehow, it was still dissatisfying. This line of thinking defied all logic, all she had ever known, stripping her of her faculties, her control. Only raw emotion ran through her then, filling her with the frustration that had been simmering in her heart ever since she had begun teaching at Silsden. How did Jane, Mary, and Diana ever deal with it? The powerlessness, the impossible odds, the prejudice that always came their way when upper-class acquaintances learned that they, landed gentry, had been reduced to something as shallow as work. Genteel ladies did not work, did not earn their own income. They courted and married and bore children as soon as they were able.

Edith basked unwillingly in this turmoil, miserable at how foolishly her heart was acting, beating wildly with disdain for her misfortune. She knew that she was many times luckier than many girls her age. She knew she was privileged for being able to attain an education as a child. She had a wonderful father and a warm bed to sleep in at night, fine clothing and friends she cared about. Why was it that she was so unhappy?

How long it took her to wrestle her emotions back beneath the surface, she was not sure. God craved her communion however, so she prayed, sifting through her thoughts for an answer to this unholy ingratitude. Her flesh burned and her head ached, but she did not let up until there was a tap on her door.

"Edith? Oh…What's wrong?" Theophilus asked.

The girl shook her head. "Nothing. I was just thinking."

He peered into her sullen features, frowning at how unnaturally calm she was. There was something that laid just inside, like an animal that crawled beneath her skin, itching to break free…

"You can trust me with anything, Edith. Tell me, what troubles you?"

Her poor cousin. He was so worried for her, but she could not saddle him with this. She did not understand it herself. How would he?

"Please, Theo, perhaps after I sort it all out. Now, what did you come here for?"

He gave her an odd look. "You've never lost track of time before. We agreed to meet our companions at the theater."

"Ah. Could you give me a moment to freshen up?"

"Of course."

The crease in his brow did not escape her notice. With a sigh, she threw on a new dress, cursing inwardly at her stupidity. Theophilus did not need any more worry in his life. He could be such a mother hen when he caught wind of his friends' troubles, and more often than not, he would throw himself into their issues, occasionally injuring himself in the process. If he ever learned of her unhappiness, he would move heaven and earth itself to fix it. Well, he would try to at least. She did not think her strife could be so easily uprooted.

He did not ask anything more when they took off, attempting instead to lighten the mood with a funny encounter he had with a student. Edith played along for his sake, not wanting to ruin the evening before it had even started.

The men had booked an appointment at an informal music recital on the outskirts of the university town center. The fun of it was that this particular theater did not have a specific set list, so guests would usually have a free-for-all trying to guess what would be playing. If the musicians were in a good mood, they were known to occasionally accept requests.

St. John and Pitt had arrived first, the pair of them leaning on the wall by the entrance engaged in a deep argument over some of the basic principles of philosophy. From a distance, the scene was rather frightful; St. John towered over Pitt by a foot, the coal pitch of his coat billowing menacingly. He looked like an overgrown vulture who had had his feathers ruffled. Pitt on the other hand looked like a stouter, braver bird standing up to a bully, his fiery locks pointing out in all directions like the mane of a lion. If an onlooker did not know they were friends, they might have been scared for the professor's wellbeing.

The image was so absurd that Edith completely forgot her troubles, her focus fixed wholeheartedly on the men before her.

"Braveheart," she giggled, "Mr. Pitt looks like those depictions of Braveheart in the children's tales."

"Now that you mention it, he does. We'd better rescue the poor fellow before our lovely minister decides to make clean work of him. There won't even be bones left should that happen."

So Theophilus whistled in a most loud and ungentlemanly manner, drawing their attention and surprise.

"I thought you two were going to brawl! I'd love to watch with Bach or Mozart playing in the background, but then you'd have to be fighting indoors," he said.

Pitt laughed, straightening his coat. "Was it really that bad? We were just having a friendly conversation."

"I'll be having second thoughts before starting a 'friendly chat' with you again, Pitt," he replied.

At that moment, Rockwell and Harvey turned the corner, their hands hovering over their ears cautiously.

"Was that you, Clayton? I nearly jumped out of my boots when you whistled!" Rockwell exclaimed.

"It was the only thing that would attract the attention of our compatriots. Forgive me."

They grumbled all the way inside, prodding each other as often as they could. Once Edith left her cloak with the attendant, she took a moment to marvel at the elegance of the venue. The style of the hall mimicked that of French opera houses down to the white Roman columns and the shine of the polished granite floor. Decoration, however, was rather sparse. There were few paintings and even fewer chairs for people to sit on in the lobby.

"Mid-row seats, chaps. Head down to section J," Pitt shouted. The low din of the crowd pushed against them in waves, projecting a strange excitement into the atmosphere. It worked its magic into everyone in attendance, weaving invisible strings through hands and feet and drawing people into seats without their knowing it. All eyes were trapped on the center of the stage in wait.

"Are you coming to the soiree next Friday, Miss Richardson?" Rockwell asked. Edith had settled between him and Theophilus, admiring the velvet lining of the seats. The others were talking among themselves, greeting acquaintances who sat in the rows in front and behind them.

"I was not aware I was invited to one, Mr. Rockwell. Who is the host?"

"Harvey, of course. We're throwing a farewell dance for Rivers the night before he leaves."

"That's quite thoughtful of you. You all must treasure Mr. Rivers' companionship very much."

A gloom crept over his features at that, measuring equally with the frown that slipped onto his mouth. "Yes. And I would gladly trade it away if I could convince him to damn India."

Edith's eyes widened.

"Please excuse my language. I conveyed my misgivings too strongly."

"Oh, no, not at all. I was simply surprised that you…were so against his trip."

"If only it were that. I fear that we may never see him again." A vein in his neck tightened grimly. "If only there were some way to make him stay."

Edith picked the ends of her gloves, her gaze mapping the creases of concern that lined his face. His sorrow touched her; she knew what it was to lose someone dear. "I spoke to his sisters about it, actually."

"I was not aware you were so intimate with his family."

She smiled. "Diana and Mary played with me often when I was young. They attempted to talk him out of leaving many times, but nothing ever came of it. Mr. Rivers cannot be stopped. It'll take drastic measures to keep him in England."

"They're not wrong. Pitt, Harvey, and I know him like the backs of our hands. We've gone through so much together that it's only natural. I always thought he'd make a clever scientist or historian. He had the best marks out of all of us you know."

"I'm not surprised to hear that. Even in Morton he is still quite a rigorous pupil."

"Of what?"

"Hindustani."

He waved it aside. "He could have conquered the world with his skill, but instead he decides to go to India and try his luck converting undisciplined savages. Why could he not do that here?"

"Mr. Rivers is far too ambitious to be satisfied with anything England has to offer."

"How do you know?"

She raised a shoulder. “He always speaks of ambition…as it if it is coupled with his profession. His aspirations plague him, I suppose.”

"I believe you've hit the nail on the head then. It would be very characteristic of him."

On stage, the curtains parted, revealing a complete orchestra of young men from the music department. As the audience clapped and whistled, Edith turned back to Rockwell. The smooth shine of his mustache curled on his lip, tense and wanting for detail. He did not consider their conversation finished, but they would have to pick it up another time. This was not the place for such talk.

The musicians prepared their music sheets, running their hands down their instruments lovingly in preparation. A performance required as much mental readiness as it did physical.

Rockwell gave her a sheepish twitch of his lips. "I nearly forgot. Will you be at the party?"

"Oh, yes. I think I shall be in attendance," she said.

"Excellent. You will not regret it. At Cambridge, we pride ourselves in our ability to throw the most marvelous of festivities. Studying is only a hobby."

"I'll be holding you to that, Mr. Rockwell."

They exchanged grins, the first strings of Mozart's Marriage of Figaro reverberating off the walls.

A collective murmur of appreciation overtook the crowd, and Edith could not help but agree. The song washed over her, calling like a deadly siren, asking her to surrender to its allure. So sweet and lively it was that she felt her eyes slide to half-mast, her breathing soft and slow. It pricked at some tender part of her brain that had forgotten it. As the music swelled, the pressure grew harder, urging that piece unwilling to revive it to give in.

In every person, was there not a place where the past went to die?

The mellow timber of the overture grew dim, fading into distortion. In a dark corridor, she felt cool stone beneath her feet, the kiss of stale air on her skin. Molten wax from the candle she clutched tightly dripped down her fingers, but she did not feel pain.

A voice whispered in her ear, urging her to stop. To surrender. To forgo what was at the end.

There was nothing she could do. She was divorced from her own body, walking as a shell with without a consciousness, controlled by hands of the non-divine. This hellish master forced sweat from her skin, its hot breath growing frantic at her neck, a paradox of the melodious stream of warnings just above it.

"Bravo!"

A muscle in her wrist jolted, and suddenly, life bloomed across the emptiness that filled her eyes, the warmth of the torchlights drawing color to her cheeks. She saw the musicians wave at the crowd, celebrating the completion of the first song in a line of many.

This groggy realization made her sit up in her seat, face ashen with the horror of confusion. When she drew her hands together to clap, she could swear there was wax smeared on the inside of her gloves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everyone! I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Please leave a review if you like. BTW, how does one write gothic horror?


	5. Descent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Back with an update! I hope you enjoy, and please leave your thoughts! Additionally, I forgot to mention that I've also put this up on Fanfiction, so if it's more convenient for you, this fic's there.

The stack of books that laid on her desk grew hourly, courtesy of the library that laid just two doors down from her little room. The thick tomes had acquired layers and layers of dust from underuse, most of which landed on the surface of her cold cup of tea as she flipped through musty pages, yanking a golden lock of hair.

So far, her search had proved fruitless. She left no stone unturned, searching for all possible causes and meanings of the nightmare she slipped into at the recital. It had been as if she was plunged into an icy abyss within herself, locked away forever from the real world. She did not feel or hear a thing outside of that dreadful corridor until the song finished, and she was released by the shouts of joy from the crowd.

The worst of it was that she did not know if the "dream" was really such a thing at all. Had she not been fully awake and attentive the moment before? Her faculties were engaged with Rockwell's address at that time. All observations and reasoning pointed to the fact that the strange fantasy was a figment of her imagination, perhaps even a product of stress. Unfortunately, her gut had other things to say, namely that it had been a real, tangible memory. She wanted to trust herself, but if it was indeed somewhere she had been before, then why did she not have any recollection of the place?

Edith sat on the edge of her bed, sighing deeply as she shut the volume in her lap. Modern medicine yielded very little insight into the realm of the psyche. Without a good scientific understanding of the mind, she doubted she would ever know what was happening inside her.

Her fingers skipped over the embossed letters of the title, enjoying the rasp of the leather. It touched both the skin and the ear, the sound breaking the thick film of silence that had descended over the room. Her eyes fixed themselves to the door where they traced the dark ring patterns stretched across the paneling.

It could not be willed to open.

…

St. John found her stumbling towards the library with an armful of books piled up to her nose. How she had ever caught sight of him, she would never know. He had been hidden in a space beyond her means, translucent as shadow. There was a pause of incredulity; she wondered why he was here, and he tilted his head in question to her burden. When she squeaked out a greeting, naturally half of the stack fell to the floor.

He leaned over to pick one up. " _A Medical Guide to the Consciousness of Man?_  Your reading is not so light, Miss Richardson."

"Indeed, sir. I've just been…curious about it."

There was a frame of hard scrutiny over his graceful mien, not discourteous but merely calculating. It swept down her face like a stinging torrent of rain. Instead of leaving, he helped her gather the texts scattered around their feet, and they placed them back into their proper places on the Trinity shelves.

"Does medicine interest you?" he asked.

Her fingernail scraped the spine of the book she was holding, so surprised was she by his inquiry. The intricacies of science and mathematics were not acceptable for women to learn.

"Not particularly," she admitted, "Why do you ask?"

"You study quite vigorously. It is rare to find a woman who would put forth the time and patience to do so."

"You flatter me, Mr. Rivers. I was only searching for an answer to a…nightmare I had."

"Surely it was not so serious as to warrant all of these texts?"

"It was only all too real."

A shadow of terror veiled her whole body. She stiffened against one of the tables, her frown serene. Her expression belied fear, but it was not without thought—her delicate brow wrinkled upon recalling the odd daydream, once again seeking any possible explanation.

"Would you care terribly if I told you, Mr. Rivers?" she asked.

"No, not at all." He was a confidante to the members of his parish, and she was one of his flock.

He gestured to a pair of armchairs at the corner, and they sat, arranging themselves comfortably. Everything streamed from her mouth judiciously unguarded and unfiltered. A vast majority of the garble was observations she had had since. Bits of facts and theories she had noted and detached from the mockery her inward eye had attempted to force upon her to replace the true vision from the night before. There was little need for emotion where the parson was concerned—for all the spiritual power and wisdom he possessed, he was not well suited to the humane aspects of the station. It was a great comfort that regaling the story aloud still tamed her discomfort all the same.

Still, she could not quite isolate herself from the grip of that illusory madness even with this method of self-protection. It was his presence that prevented her from falling completely into the horror that wormed its way through her spine.

Meanwhile, St. John had not moved an inch. There was nothing but the slow rise and fall of his chest, well-practiced as he was with taking confessions from the people of Morton. Nothing she said drew even a twitch of surprise from his mouth—it was drawn as tightly and neatly as the line of a straightedge.

"I didn't want to tell anyone, especially Theophilus," she said at the end, "He doesn't need any more worries."

"An understandable decision," he assured her, "Though, now that I am privy to your dilemma, I will pass judgement. If I had undergone such a thing, I would interpret it as a sign from God."

Comprehension dawned on her, clearing the smoke and mirrors as efficiently as a cold dousing of water.

"How do you mean?"

"Why else would you slip into such a vivid fantasy if it were not sent by the Lord? You are young, in good health, and stable of mind. I see no other explanation. He recalled the memory to guide you down a new path. Whatever your future holds, it will be something new, something great. It is unfathomable as of now."

Perhaps God was punishing her for her insolence yesterday. For not being grateful for all she had been given to this point.

"He is not unkind. Why would he frighten the wits out of a girl like me if not for a reason?" she concluded.

St. John took her words as an agreement. "You trust my logic?"

She nodded. "Yes, Mr. Rivers. Thank you for helping me."

By silent mutual agreement, they strolled out into the courtyard, each lost in their own thoughts. St. John was the moon, a monument of alabaster stone settled high above the heads of wretched mortals, lost in august wanderings. His thoughts seemed inhuman to her then, monstrous in their strength and alien in their boundless ability for adaptation. St. John was the type of scholar who would only learn how to better shun his fellow man as time progressed. His desire for heavenly splendor would disfigure his soul beyond recognition to any other he met.

Edith recognized this when he spoke to her. He already lacked the passion and sympathy a normal clergyman would have. When he spoke, he spoke through the mind, not through the heart, and when he touched another's spirit, he sent them into divine ecstasy with the word of the Lord for a price. He seared their flesh and blood with that glorious light until there was nothing but bone. There was no good he could do as a missionary if he could not prevent the cold from chilling the members of his parish.

"I originally came to relay news of Jane's marriage," St. John said, "She bade me to tell you if I had the chance. You were acquainted for so short a time that she was not sure if it would be forward to send you a message directly, and we are both at Cambridge after all."

"I am deeply surprised, but I will convey my congratulations post-haste. Who has she married? I suppose her name is no longer Eyre, is it?"

"Her new name is 'Rochester.'" He sent her a sideways glance. "You do not display joy for her nuptials."

It was a blunt observation. She maintained her thoughtful countenance, thinking steadily over what she knew of her friend and trying to fit the pieces together. Jane had likely rejected St. John because of this mystery husband of hers, and behind that mask, St. John was writhing in pain over his burnt pride. The collected way he stood here before her did not draw the wool over her eyes.

"I am glad for her. She has found someone she loves. She always did place that quite highly on her list of importance. I think I am a little bit confused because of how suddenly it has occurred."

"It is not within my jurisdiction to tell you her history. However, I can assure you that she has married of her own free will."

 _Unfortunately._  It lodged in the back of his throat, invisible to all but her.

It was not her place to query him about his attachment to Jane. It was something she should not know about let alone confront him over, but she saw the rosy tint of his cheeks began to fade, and decided to inquire about his well-being.

"And…how are you feeling, Mr. Rivers?"

"I take it that you speak of how her dismissal of my hand has affected me."

She winced. "I was attempting to converse in more general terms."

"No matter. The proposal is not an obscure subject in Morton. I would be appalled if you had not heard of it. It is God's will that Jane should marry another. I have no qualms with the manifestation of His will."

"Surely you do. You would not be so pale otherwise," she said softly.

"You have no reason to ask after my mental state."

"I wish to aid you. If you saw Jane or one of your sisters in anguish, wouldn't you approach them? Wouldn't you do anything to ease them of their troubles?"

His pause was all too telling. After a moment of deliberation, he said, "I would help them if they came to me."

How uncaring he was. Even for the sake of his own kin, he would not be their protector, their comforter. His existence was truly lonely.

Forcing down the annoyance, she said, "I will question you no further. It is not my place."

They stopped in the shade of an evergreen, standing opposite each other. Edith watched him stroke the edge of his hat, tilting his face down to hers. It was then that she realized just how tall he really was—the black of his overcoat impeded her vision at the chest. She allowed herself to meet his gaze, resolving to be as unassuming as he; if he did not want her sympathy, she would not give it.

"You are a most singular girl. I have not yet seen a member of your sex delegate thought in such a precise and orderly manner as you. You are meticulous even in matters of the heart, yet you retain all connection, reserved as it might be."

"Women are far weaker than men in body. We are caregivers; we give love freely to our children, our husbands. What else might we do to defend ourselves other than temper our minds and cull our fervor?"

He nodded approvingly. "The cultivation of thought is advantageous for both genders, unpopular as this notion may be among our peers. Achieving the degree of learning required to rescind the hold of emotion over action prevents the need for consequence. If our brothers and sisters could realize such a thing, the world would be a pinnacle of purity."

"Purity. Such a strange word. Physical or spiritual? Both?"

"If the brain should rule all, then man will attain true enlightenment. Everything will be clean."

"You sound so sure."

"I am, Miss Richardson. You are not?"

"I truly don't know. Not now. Not yet. Perhaps such control is too extreme."

"It is required of us. Control is what man lacks. We are the proof of its success." He drew a letter from his pocket and handed it to her. "Jane's address. I trust you will need it."

"Oh, yes. Thank you."

"I will take leave of you here, Miss Richardson. Good day."

Within a second, he vanished. It was not until Edith turned and spotted Theophilus in the distance that she knew the reason.

…

"Don't scowl like that, Theo. Mr. Rivers was only here to deliver news from Morton. Miss Eyre got married."

"Congratulations. Why did he leave so quickly once he saw me?" he growled.

Edith tucked her hand into the crook of his arm, leaning her head on the side of it. "Maybe he doesn't feel comfortable around you."

"Me? What have I ever done to him?"

"I don't know. Please, don't be angry. There could have been a million reasons why he didn't stay. It might not have been personal, Theo."

He sighed, shaking his head in resignation. "I can't argue with you, Edith. You're right. We don't really have the full picture."

He patted her hand, his ire cooling rapidly. St. John might have known her as a rational feeler, but she was not the only one in the family with this trait. Theophilus just needed a push in the right direction at times.

"Do you remember what I told you the other day? About why Mr. Rivers was so taciturn?"

"He was rejected."

"Yes, and that girl, Jane Eyre, wedded someone else. He received the letter today."

The man's eyes widened, and then narrowed in guilt. "That would explain why Pitt asked me if I had seen him today. He came to  _me_ of all people, and he knows we don't exactly enjoy each other's company. I think Mr. Rivers has been avoiding everyone."

"From what I saw earlier, that sounds quite plausible."

"But he went to see you…to relay the news? I'd think he would take some time to himself after that."

"Mr. Rivers was exceptionally neutral on the subject. It was as if he had no part in the affair."

"How quaint. Perhaps he was trying to pretend it never happened—so he could spare himself further pain."

Edith came to a full stop, drawing him to a halt as well. Noon had arrived, and it struck them with full intensity, the wrath of the heat stirring in their thick clothes. Perspiration was beading steadily on Theophilus' forehead, catching on the slight wrinkles that formed as he stared at her.

She drew a deep breath. "I don't think he was in love with her."

"What?!" he cried, "What is he? An iceberg or a man? How could he propose without an ounce of love in his suit?"

"I believe this is why she did not accept him."

"And for good reason! What would a marriage be without even the slightest hint of amiability between the spouses? There should be at least a  _hint_  of sentiment in such a union. If this Miss Eyre holds love with such high regard as you say, then there must have been absolutely nothing that linked her soul to Rivers' at all. They spent—how long together?"

"Nearly a year."

"—A year together and their relationship had not burst with the flower of passion. Their natures were misaligned, and Mr. Rivers had failed to recognize that. How very piteous indeed."


	6. Public

The inkpot stood at the side of her writing desk in perfect solitude. It was the only thing that laid on the smooth cherry surface, and it glinted dreamily at her in the dim sunlight.

Edith stretched, raising her hands high above her head. She had just returned from posting her letters home. Her correspondence to Jane was short but heartfelt with many congratulations on her marital status. In the interest of propriety, she would wait for a reply before including greater detail about her life at Cambridge. In the letter to Mary and Diana, she discussed how St. John had taken the news, knowing that he would not do it himself. To her father, she sent a general update on the things she had been doing with her cousin and his friends. She had no plans for returning just yet.

With any luck, they would arrive within the course of a few days. Morton was quite far from the university.

She laid down on the bed, pondering the ceiling. A long ray of light divided the drywall in half, disrupting the darkness from the slight partition in her curtains. This was corrected instantly, and she enjoyed gloom in sated pleasure.

Samuel had not sent any word about his business with their lawyer. The ordeal was already rather mystifying, and she was quite curious as to what end it had come to. It had made him miss visiting Theophilus, after all, and little to nothing usually ever kept her father from his favorite nephew.

Hopefully, his next missive would reveal more to her. It was likely he had simply forgotten to write.

Edith turned on her side, allowing sloth to overcome her listless frame. There were a few long hours before day would be fully ready to take her. Rest would be allowed, tolerated for as long as she was able. Soon, the gentle caress of sleep fell upon her eyes.

…

Whatever peace Edith might have found on the fanciful green plains of her scholastic residence was summarily thrown to the wind. She would not go so far as to say it had been completely destroyed, but the sentiment was certainly still there.

The next few days were thrown into heavy planning and preparation for St. John's farewell soiree. Theophilus took every chance he could to remind her that the "odious curate" would be finally out of their hair once and for all. Half of it was teasing in manner (he could never be truly mean), but the other half was rather callously done. Edith scolded him thoroughly whenever the lightheartedness slid out of his voice.

Being privy to his real thoughts was not something she enjoyed. Perhaps St. John might deserve the scorn, but she did not want to hear it as often as Theophilus was willing to give it. She did not agree with every facet of his argument against him; in fact, some part of her agreed with St. John. Why he had chosen to offer marriage to Jane was understandable. It was just that much of the reason behind it was too unsympathetic, too unfiltered to be reasonable for anyone to accept.

This begged the question of whether Edith was losing her empathy by finding communalism with such extreme tastes as the minister's. Even if this was true, all she knew was that he was not nearly as reprehensible as others believed.

She stood at the window of a women's dress shop, considering a fine ribbon that laid behind the glass. Just next door, the men were getting themselves refitted for new suits and otherwise updating their wardrobes. This afternoon was allotted to taking care of such frivolities—in reality, Edith knew they wanted to look their best when they said goodbye to their friend.

When her gaze wandered to the price tag of the lace accessory, she decided that she could definitely do without it. It was a pity, but her evening gown was already beautiful enough on its own.

"Is my Lady in need of rescuing?"

The reflection of a coin flashed in the window, and Edith turned to find a silver shilling spinning in the hand of Gerard Harvey. He grinned down at her, and she smiled in return.

"No, Mr. Harvey, I'm perfectly all right. Are the other gentlemen finished?"

"Not yet. Clayton's having a ball in there. He's trying to convince Pitt to try out one of the latest fashions: low-cut waistcoats."

"How daring. He will need a new cravat to accommodate it."

"The search makes fine sport. I doubt there's anything appropriate in stock, however." He led her gently into the dress store and placed the shilling in her hand. "I believe you have a purchase to make?"

"I couldn't, Mr. Harvey. I've really no need for—"

"No 'buts,' Miss Richardson. You are our guest; it is our duty to see to your comfort. If you do not agree with that view, then please accept it as a gift. I will not take it back either way," he said firmly.

"Well… If you insist…"

And she bought the ribbon with two pence left over.

"The  _whole_  shilling is yours, Miss Richardson."

"And since it is mine, I choose to make a present of the rest to  _you_."

The young man gave a bark of laughter and tucked his hands into his pockets. "I've fallen into my own trap! Allow yourself another purchase if you will not keep it. Those pence are not a burden I wish to bear."

"Men!" she huffed. Defeated, she slid them into her purse, wanting sorely to attack Harvey with her new lace frill.

They stepped outside, a gust of wind kicking about their ankles. Harvey's polished leather shoes suffered nothing despite the dirt that had been driven over them. Her boots told a different tale, one that said this would be the last time she would ever go cheap on footwear. On a whole, Edith looked quite poorer than the Trinity fellow despite his rumpled appearance.

"Let us find our companions. They should have made some progress by now," he said.

"I'm not so sure, Mr. Harvey."

She gestured to the scene inside the shop: cravats had been flung over every available surface, surrounding an arguing Pitt and Theophilus—the epicenter of it all. Both held a fistful of the colorful garments, waving them about as they pleased to accentuate their points. One of the shop attendants flew hurriedly this way and that trying to find a tie that would satisfy both men. His colleague was on his knees folding the fallen merchandise, watching the door in terror that a new customer should enter upon the disastrous scene.

Standing unnoticed in the corner was Rockwell and St. John, who were deep in discourse themselves. It was a serious matter, however. Their mouths were drawn down as they spoke, low and secretive in their musings. It seemed to her that they were discussing a business venture or perhaps a funeral. Whatever it was, it certainly had nothing to do with the festivities coming up on Friday.

Harvey waved at them, and they separated, exiting the establishment.

"I'd forgotten the smell of fresh air amidst the dust and cloth in there," Rockwell scoffed. He righted his jacket, lifting his hat to his head.

"You never were one for the indoors," St. John replied dryly.

"Only you would say that. There is more to life than intense study of the scripture, you know." He indicated Edith. "Such as fine young ladies."

St. John did not spare her so much as a glance. "And while you were out frolicking with half the female population in town, I was shaking hands with the dean at graduation."

"I won't deny that. You did enough work for both our degrees—you essentially completed mine for me. But in doing so, you squandered your youth and all of the opportunities that came with it."

"Nonsense. Are we not still in our primes? What have you to say about this, Harvey?"

Her slate-eyed chaperone only chuckled. "I can't aid you on this one. I daresay he's entirely correct. You should have joined us at more galas back then."

"Who knows, you might be married by now if you had," Rockwell said.

Edith laid her fingers on her lips to prevent giggles from spilling out. The men's bubbled effervescently, unrestrained in the dilemma they had presented to their friend.

St. John's harmonious countenance remained unbroken. There was not even a sign of a hairline fracture in that chiseled settlement of stone despite the derision that laid behind his hooded gaze. Even if his heart railed against him with all its might, he remained an edifice of wood, an ancient figure of immaculate martyrdom. The activities his friends were describing had no place within the Lord's book, and therefore, no place on the altar that was his heart.

To her, that reticent anger damaged the veneer of absolute submission St. John had struggled to construct for so long.

"A minister must set an example for all in his fold. If he is not respectable, righteous, and imperious, how might he lay claim to such a position of power? These attitudes have been engrained into my character from birth. It is what I know, what I believe to be just. Even if that does not apply to either of you."

He took a step towards her, the only one who was no longer laughing. Those two pinpricks of blue sought her own, fastening tightly once they reached their destination.

"Do you not agree, Miss Richardson?"

There was force in his words. He was prodding her into submission, urging as well as appealing to her devoutness to take his side.

Edith played the innocent. "You are a true model of moralistic nobility if I have ever seen one, sir."

"You tease me. To what end?"

"None. This joke is grounded in truth."

"And yet, no other will partake in this expedition with me."

"Not all are able," she returned.

"Oh?" he breathed, and slowly, he lowered his head to her, no longer addressing her from that proud tilt of chiseled chin. She regarded him with a flicker of surprise and unease, mouth pressed in willful solemnity.

"I find that one of the few who are is in fair accordance with these principles," he said.

Pale roses bloomed across her milky features.

At this point, Harvey and Rockwell were staring back-and-forth at them with a mixture of befuddlement and elation at this exchange. They were just on the cusp of figuring it all out. This code as plain as day and as subtle as a whiff of perfume. The directness with which St. John was addressing her in such a public place. His speech, so refined and yet so cryptic to a young woman they did not think him familiar enough to attend to in such a manner…

"Who is in accordance with what, Mr. Rivers?" came Theophilus' voice.

He and Pitt were laden with boxes of new clothing, a few of which they passed to the others because they had left them behind while waiting.

"A lamb willing to do God's work and all that may come with it."

"Where does the sacrificing come in?"

Pitt elbowed Theophilus squarely in the ribs.

"A servant must devote himself fully to his master. Forfeiting one's own life would only be proper and entirely necessary."

Without another word, he turned away, walking down the road toward the dormitories. St. John's uncharacteristic rudeness drew a collective groan of annoyance—aimed specifically at her cousin.

"Look what you've done," Pitt grumbled, "You could have been civil at the very least. Now he'll be off sulking in his room for the rest of the day!"

"I only got one line in. It wasn't even an insult."

"You were contesting him and mocking the church, Clayton. He'll probably be praying for your soul tonight."

Theophilus scoffed, sneering as he shifted his things. "Let him pray! For all the good it'll do either of us, let him pray! God will hear his calls and mine."

He gestured rudely at St. John's dark, woolen back and strode in the opposite direction, ignoring the bemusement he left in his wake.

…

"The two of them are entirely too stubborn for their own good. It is little wonder that they do not get along."

"Don't start again with this, Pitt. We tried and failed to get them acquainted. It can't be helped, you know. Some people are just too different," Rockwell said, "We just need to give them time to cool off."

"I don't know if that will work. Clayton ran off somewhere with five boxes, all full of items beyond his means to replace should he lose them. What was he thinking?"

"Nothing good. I just hope he isn't getting drinks without us," Harvey said.

Edith walked alongside them, trailing a little off to the edge of the path. They had decided to go back to campus. It was irresponsible to be escorting her around town in Theophilus' absence.

Pitt dabbed his drooping skin with a stained handkerchief, sucking the moisture off of the scraggly lines of fine red hair that laid at his temples. "What shall we do to pass the time? I'd been hoping we could all go to the bookstore, but it's out of the question at present."

"Billiards?" Harvey suggested.

And they all looked to Edith uncertainly.

"I know how to play. Teams of two?" she suggested.

"Clearly, billiards is not just a gentleman's sport. I concur," he replied, grinning.

"You and me, Miss Richardson. If you are…inexperienced, worry not, I will be able to win," Pitt said. He swept down in a low bow, eliciting a fair amount of mirth from the little gang.

"How humble of you, Mr. Pitt, though I doubt my skill with a cue stick is too abominable."

After they dropped off their parcels, they appeared directly at an unoccupied pool table in the house commons. Hours fell away until they had to call for servants to light candles in the room so they could continue.

Edith, while nowhere near as practiced as the others, managed to hold her own quite admirably. She proved no hindrance to Pitt's strategies, even helping him on occasion. The young professor had not been boasting about his finesse. His aim, high and true, always struck boldly. He was more than equal to both his opponents.

The two of them leaned on their sticks, waiting for Rockwell to take his shot. Pitt had loosened his tie in favor of the muggy indoor environment. All the windows were open, but there was no draft to dispel the heat.

"What did Rivers say to you earlier?" Pitt asked.

"Hmm?" she hummed. She was gazing at the rolling balls, relishing the sharp crack that struck her ears when they collided.

"What did he say that made you blush like that? …If I am not too forward."

There had been nothing but silence for the last half hour. The sudden flicker of dialogue between them drew Rockwell and Harvey up, their focus on her rather than the table.

"Why do you ask, Mr. Pitt?"

"I have never seen Rivers elicit such a reaction from a woman. If I am not mistaken, you both are unattached, yes?"

She nodded, fighting the color that was welling up again to spite her. Just remembering what he had said coupled with the way his eyes had been fixed on her put her in confusion, and she had no desire to revisit that scene now, if ever.

Harvey tutted softly. "Dear me, Pitt. You have put her in a tough spot. How blind can you be?"

"I was only curious. I apologize." The nervous tic of his jaw began, but Edith smiled at him forgivingly.

"Oh… It's all right." She paused, fiddling with the end of her cuff. "I take it that Mr. Rivers doesn't interact with many ladies?"

"That's an understatement. I believe he goes out of his way to avoid them at times," Rockwell said.

"Just the ones that are free in their affections," Harvey corrected, "I wonder if we should have hosted a bible study rather than a soiree for our dear brother."

"He deserves it for all the pain he's put us through by leaving," he sighed, "I don't look forward to it. I feel that it will only cement the loss."

"Don't think about it too much. If we get him drunk enough, he might not be able to leave in the morning."

"How somber a thing it is. Traveling half-way around the world to aid those you do not even know," Pitt murmured, "I don't know how he ever let that idea run his life."

"Shut up, Pitt. That isn't helping," Harvey growled.

But the damage had been done. Their mood very much dampened, they finished up the round and abandoned the dorm in search of alcohol. Punch for her, brandy for them. There was nothing else in between until Theophilus arrived to pick her up. He had returned in one piece, gloomy and not at all in the mood for drinking.

With the final preparations in place for the party, all that was left to do was wait.

One sweep of the faces around her gave her the inkling that perhaps the sooner it came, the better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I know you all want St. John to teach you how to flirt! I don't know about you, but an overzealous man bullying me into agreeing with his religious perspectives gets me every time. If I were Edith, I'd fall for his dreamy, ice-cold desire for control right away. That scene was very interesting to write. Thoughts?
> 
> Note:
> 
> Fellow: Member of a postgraduate learning group (academic, research, teaching, etc.).


	7. Alors on Danse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! Enjoy :)

Even Edith, a limited woman of few means and even fewer scruples, owned a medicine chest. Her poor father could not afford a toilet solely for make-up, which she had accepted without anguish as a young teenager at Silsden.

It cost precisely three pounds. Three pounds of her father's personal money that he had saved up specifically to buy it for her. At the time, it meant the world because they often did not have the means of procuring ingredients for home remedies when they were ill. Giving her a chest of her own was his final gift to her before she went to boarding school  _alone_.

She touched the ornate wood carefully, cherishing the memory. Hidden amongst the tonics and balms were her cosmetics, all sorted into prized jars regardless of their cheapness of make. She treated each with loving care knowing how difficult it had been for Samuel to acquire them for her.

For tonight, she worked with only the best. A light coating of fine rice powder was applied to pale her further, and she layered a faint sheen of pink rogue over her cheeks and eyelids to give them some color. With her little finger, she painted a bit of clear pomade on her lips, making them glow in light. Too much and she would appear a common prostitute rather than a lady of breeding, too little and the effect would be inconsequential.

The ribbon she bought was braided through her flaxen lengths of hair and wrapped neatly around her head. Instead of weaving the tresses at the front and tying under her ears as she typically did, she coiffed them suitably, matching the formality required of the lavender gown that adorned her slight frame. It was simple but elegant. Its ruffled sleeves cut halfway down her upper arm, sparsely fluffed to keep her shoulders slim. The neckline sloped in diagonal lines down to the tops of her breasts, and though she thought it was rather daring (by her standards), she admitted that they accentuated her collarbones attractively. It worked well by drawing attention away from the undecorated bodice and plaits of her skirt.

Every woman was vain to some extent, and Edith knew she would be a fool for believing she was any different. She was not so far removed from societal norm that she was completely apathetic to her appearance. For a moment, she admired her reflection, pleased with the finished result. It was rare that she ever required the aid of beautifying products, but when she did, it was quite refreshing. She was reminded of the fact that she was a living, breathing human with needs and wants and desires just like everyone else. Surely the Lord would allow her this indulgence?

A more rational approach was simply that it was occasions like these that carelessness could affect others' impressions of her, so she needed to be presentable to prevent embarrassment from falling on Theophilus or his peers. It was completely emotionless; a pure failsafe for unholy whims that satisfied the part of her that had next to no concern for such weak ties as the loveliness of her flesh.

She pondered this on her way to Theophilus' room. After a light tap, he received her, thoroughly surprised that she had finished before him. He had barely done his hair and put on his dinner jacket just as she arrived.

"I thought  _I_  would be the one escorting you, chérie, not the other way around."

"Oh, stop it," she giggled, "Let us go."

…

They were swept away by one of Harvey's private carriages. He had been kind enough to send one to take them to his estate on the outskirts of the city.

Upon arriving, a servant helped them out of their transport, lining them neatly at the door and announcing their names as they entered. Theophilus had to usher her forward, trapped in awe as she was at the sight of Harvey's lavish home. In reality, it was more of a countryside manor than an urban dwelling—the structure was reminiscent of neo-Roman architecture and draped in antiques from the last century. Harvey had somehow managed to make outdated styles fashionable in his house.

"Wonderful, isn't it?" Theophilus murmured, "His parents bought this place for him after graduation since he was staying on as a fellow."

"It's absolutely breathtaking," she said.

Because she and Theophilus were considered close acquaintances of the host (and St. John to an extent), they had come a bit early. A few of St. John's other friends were similarly present: a Frederick Thomas Wharton, William Howard, and Robert Prynne, all of whom were ministers and had come specifically to say goodbye to their old schoolmate. Prynne had brought his wife, Bess, who had been overjoyed to see more female company in Edith and another young lady on Pitt's arm.

Edith curtseyed gracefully to both, and the girl introduced herself as Clara, Pitt's younger sister. She was about Mary's age and the owner of the most luscious red locks Edith had ever seen. In addition to this, she also matched her brother in coloring and temperament, making a spectacularly handsome addition to the soiree. This was not lost on a few male members of the party, which Edith noticed with delight, included Theophilus. He had never been more charmed, and his gaze hovered over her like a moth to flame.

The depression that followed in the days after the billiards incident lifted. The men shook hands easily, pleased with seeing more old faces that shared in their woe with acceptance. With the first few drinks, mouths lifted to grins and quiet reminiscences yielded to bouts of laughter. The time for mourning was over; this night would not see any more of the sadness they had long held in their hearts. St. John deserved a measure of joy for his final day in the sun.

When more guests began to arrive, Harvey and St. John were forced to separate from the group to greet them. The ladies took this opportunity to draw away to the punch table to chat among themselves for a bit, Edith finding the pair extremely amiable and well-met in conversing about literature and music, the most pleasing of all subjects.

"Shall we drink some punch, ladies? All this talking has gotten me thirsty!" Bess said.

"Careful. It won't be pleasant to get tipsy too early in the night," Clara said, "It could affect your dancing."

She spoke sensibly, but Edith did not miss how her attention flicked over to the men, her shoulders relaxing appreciatively upon sighting Wharton and Theophilus. The latter caught her line of vision and slowly disengaged himself from his conversation, making his way over to her.

Edith touched Bess' arm, leading her away from the table to give them some privacy.

"Oh dear, your cousin's is quite the early bird, isn't he?" she said, watching them with interest.

"Not unless the girl is uncommonly pretty. I think he's taken her first couple of dances."

"They should have an attachment by the end of the night by the looks of it!"

They laughed discreetly, shielding their mouths with gloved hands before walking off to mingle a bit more. Once they had made a full circle of the ballroom, the orchestra had finished setting up their instruments, prepared to play the first couples' song for the party.

Most of the guests took their time finding a partner as this particular affair was a bit different from the norm. Harvey and St. John had chosen not to throw a formal ball; instead, this soiree was designed to be more lax on ballroom etiquette as well as dancing. There was not as much pressure to take to the floor in favor of allowing more time for talk.

Rockwell came to her immediately, and she accepted, Bess falling into step beside them with her husband.

He took her hand in his own, settling the other over her waist as they waltzed.

"I take it you are enjoying yourself, Miss Richardson?" he asked.

"Oh, very much. The atmosphere is so lively tonight. I haven't danced for quite a while."

"I'm glad you think so. I wasn't sure if we could pull off a dance without guidance, but I suppose we managed well enough."

"You are too modest, Mr. Rockwell. A matron could not have done better herself."

He laughed. "A matron would never admit to scraping together such a loose attempt at a ball."

"Perhaps not, but she might be pleased at the number of matches made despite the small size of such an assembly."

Theophilus spun by with Clara in his arms, grinning in exhilaration.

"It is not often I've seen Clayton so enthralled with a young lady. I'm happy for him."

"As am I. I fear he would die a confirmed bachelor should he wait any longer!"

"By that logic, so would Pitt and me. Not to mention Rivers and Harvey, our seniors."

"But you all have far more charms than poor Theo. He walks in your shadows," she teased.

"If only he could hear that from your lips. I wonder what he would say to you, his lovely cousin as dear as a sister, if he was within earshot."

"He would tell me that unkind sentiments are better left unsaid."

"I don't doubt it. Clayton is so good a man." He glanced at Clara's sweet countenance, as fresh as the first bud of spring and as innocent as she was beautiful. "He deserves someone of equal measure."

`They twirled to the last thrums of music, riding the beat until the very end where they bowed low to each other, eyes sparkling with the fire of youth. Dancing was excellent exercise, and Edith always looked forward to the socialization that accompanied it. It was good fun getting to know her partner, especially if they happened to be men of learning. She was much more likely to find good conversation among scholars than anyone else.

When the next set assembled, she took a turn with Pitt, then with her cousin, who had chosen to accompany Clara a second time. When they swapped back to their original pairs, Pitt shot suspicious glares at his tall frame, watching where he was putting his hands.

His antics were so adorable that Edith could not help but chuckle; they reminded her so much of how Theophilus would treat the men who danced with her. How ironic that he was finally the accosted rather than the accoster.

The third round went to Theophilus and afterwards, she was forced to sit the fourth and fifth, winded from the constant motion of the last three-quarters of an hour. Bess flocked over with Prynne and Wharton with a short re-introduction, then promptly launched into a lighthearted discussion of the latest trend concerning high-heeled shoes, Edith listening along with the unwilling men. Her cup drained slowly over the course of the passing minutes, and she fiddled with it quite contentedly during the break.

It was then that St. John approached, presumably to check on their welfare, but as he grew closer, it became more obvious that his focus was centered only on her.

He stopped crisply before them, bowing to her.

"May I have the honor of dancing this set with you, Miss Richardson?"

"I would be pleased, Mr. Rivers."

It would be a while before it would start, however, so he stalked off, promising to return at the appointed time.

As St. John slid stiffly away, Bess scooped up Edith's hands, clasping them tightly in excitement.

"Oh, why didn't you tell me earlier, Miss Richardson?"

Edith raised her brows at her and at the men, who were both smiling gaily. "Tell you what, Mrs. Prynne?"

"That you and Mr. Rivers have an understanding!"

"Dear me, that's not it at all! Mr. Rivers is only doing his duty as host, is he not? He has seen me seated for two sets and has come to ensure I am not unattended."

Prynne shook his head dramatically, touching his wife's arm. They grinned at one another and at Wharton.

"Did you not see his stare? How intent it was upon you?"

"Yes, but I don't think that really constitutes—"

"And the way he bowed! From the waist—how gentle of him. He must hold you in quite high regard."

"I suppose we've shared each other's confidence on occasion."

"You have? Oh… Our Mr. Rivers will finally marry!"

Edith reigned as much of herself in as possible, stopping all of the muscles in her face so she would not gape. How had Bess jumped to such a hasty, undefined conclusion after a few words? It simply did not make sense—there were so many unknown variables clouding her relationship with St. John. It was irresponsible to simply assume they were potentially engaged because of the way he had asked her to dance. Emotion was quite unbecoming in such a discourse.

But when she looked between Wharton and Prynne, she saw the same simpering attitudes mirrored in their own actions. The way they stroked their beards as they tracked St. John around the room, then appraised her with approval… Were these men not trained in logical theory?

"Wh-what makes you say that, Mrs. Prynne?" she said, calming herself as best she could.

"Isn't it obvious?"

"On what terms? Intuition?" she murmured coolly.

For a moment, they seemed surprised at her reaction, maybe even put-off at her lack of playfulness, but Bess burst into a muffled fit of glee.

"Goodness gracious, you really  _are_  suited for him! How alike you are!"

Considering how unfamiliar they were with each other, Edith was beginning to lose patience with Bess' blatant disregard for decorum. The longer they spent on this topic, the more she wanted to get up and leave. It was unfortunate that a woman was not allowed to move about on her own—walking unattended was terribly impolite.

It was then that St. John melted into view, offering his arm, which she took with grateful relief. Let the consequences be damned; she cared little for the rumor mill in Cambridge.

"Not coming Prynne? Wharton?" he said.

"Our feet are already aching, and besides, you've already taken the most exquisite woman in the room, Rivers," Wharton returned. There was a satisfied smirk impressed deeply into his dimples.

The parson paid it no heed, nodding reservedly, and whisked her away in a flash of skirts.

"You seem eager for us to go, Mr. Rivers."

"I am not so unobservant as not to see that you are of a similar mind, Miss Richardson. I shall have to make amends for their behavior."

She raised her small digits to his upper arm quizzically. "What do you mean 'behavior'?"

"They have offended you."

It was quite shameful that he had caught on. "…Was it really that noticeable?"

"Not at all. I know how they are."

"And you know me well enough to see it?" she said quietly.

"If I may be so bold."

"It should be me saying that."

The corner of his mouth twitched at her.

…

St. John danced as fluidly as anyone else, which was rather impressive given that he had not been at a social function for perhaps a year or more. They took the exertion quietly, barely trading a few stray murmurs on idle things, things that had no place within the context of where they were or what they were doing.

When it was done, he led her to the outer hall away from the range of prying gossips.

Her hand had not left the crook of his elbow.

"Where are we going?"

"You shall soon find out."

At the top of the stairs laid a pair of French double doors draped in wine red. St. John pushed the lacquered wood, revealing a sky as mercurial as the sea—its darkest point was as fine as the richest ebony and its lightest the most pallid of purples. Magenta had been splashed across the wide circle of heaven, washing through the landscape like a flowing river. The milky starlight shined brightly, winking like lit candles floating through the bowels of eternity.

She took to the sight at once, abandoning her place at his side to fly to the balcony railing, mapping the trails of ether in reverent solemnity.

"The Lord could not have created anything more perfect," she whispered.

The cover of dusk obscured them both. There was nothing but the sound of their breaths, the beating of their hearts.

He reveled in His art as much as she.

"Is this atonement enough for the crimes of my friends?"

"I had forgotten about that a long time ago, Mr. Rivers."

"Quite. It is not so important now…only faraway."

She nodded dreamily, still entranced with the image before her. "Do you think everyone in this world see the same sky?"

He strode to the railing beside her, laying a hand on the cool stone. "No, not all."

"But if they don't, who's to say it isn't equally wonderful as our own?"

His lips parted, the pearl white of his teeth bared innocently, neither timid nor aggressive. Just neutral, a display for no one but her.

"To the misguided, yes. To one of truth and understanding—if they were to stand beneath that same sky—no."

"And what of those who have not found it yet?"

He leveled her with a surveying gaze to which she answered with a smile.

"Then I shall be their counsel, their mentor, their apostle."

"A burden you cannot bear for long in England."

"I will carry it for as long as I am able. A determined soul will take any toil—and see it to completion. The seeker must also carry this wish, then God will grant it. Malleability comes to the fore. With this trait, He can shape a person into His own. "

"He has taken your flexibility, Mr. Rivers, but it is because you are already His, yes?" she said impishly.

"As are you, yet you are still soft, still pliable even though much of your character is as hard as mine."

"Women are soft creatures."

"The flesh means nothing. You doubt yourself."

"Surely everyone must feel mistrust for some part of themselves. Even you."

"Not at this stage in life—fate has aligned everything in my favor, and I have taken hold of it. You will too."

"I can only hope."

"No," he said, " _Believe_."

The conviction that tempered those short syllables warmed her. His fair brow did not seem so harsh anymore, merely as smooth and as sweet as his sentiments. He had put his full faith in her without demanding recompense.

For a moment, she basked in that light. In _him_. He seemed truly handsome in that brief second--the air around them debilitated between past and present, allowing her one little victorious pulse of pleasure from the praise. She could have kissed him for it, but she only treated him with another grin, and he offered his arm.

"We will be missed if we do not return," he said.

"Of course."

It was near midnight when they descended, passing increasingly drunken guests both male and female alike. Harvey shot out from the drawing room, slapping St. John on the back.

"It's time for the toast, old friend. By the way, Prynne's got his wife under control," he said, "She's been yapping on about how lovey-dovey you two have been for hours."

"Expectation is usually different from reality, Harvey. Allow me to escort Miss Richardson to her seat before we begin."

"Right-o, I've got everyone collected—everyone sober that is. You're both going to suffer from rumors these next few days."

"I will be gone. Besides, it will not matter soon."

Harvey's mouth split from ear to ear, and he clasped St. John's hand, pumping it rigorously up and down. Edith's puzzlement merely made him cuff the pastor again.

"Good luck. You're going to need it!" He scuttled away, a spring in his step.

"What ever did he mean, Mr. Rivers?" she asked.

He shook his head. "Nothing you should concern yourself with at present."

...

Wine flowed like water in the aftermath of Harvey's little "goodbye" speech. Glasses had been raised all over the estate, toasting St. John for everything he would leave behind…and everything he would gain in India whilst spreading God's word.

There was such wonder in all of those strange, sovereign salutes. That final act of goodwill from many to one was something so unusual and disorienting that Edith felt as if she were at a battlefield, wishing her king fortitude in his last campaign—one he would fight alone. In it was that same ephemeral beauty she had seen days ago in Theophilus, when he had been so handsome in the faint candlelight glow.

She could not help but feel that St. John would never have this again. Indeed, he knew it too, for his pale eye perceived them, accepting their tribute without bias while failing to recognize any individuality. Lord Hades was his master, and he judged them all worthy of Elysium.

When threw back his golden chalice, his Adam's apple bobbed faintly beneath his cravat, welcoming the beginning and end of all things.


	8. Flight

The days passed in quick succession after St. John's departure.

“Our Father which art in Heaven, Hallowed be thy name.  Thy kingdom come.  Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven…”

She refolded her fingers, flexing them ever so steadily over the backs of her palms, her downy golden head lowered before her little mattress.  The words flowed smoothly over her lips and tongue, well-practiced from the many years she had spent reciting it.  It gave her satisfaction in revisiting those syllables; each graced her mouth with its own unique flavor.  Some tasted like aniseed, others like sugared plum or even honey.  Sometimes, they changed on different days, cycling through a different set of sweets from older memories.  Those were abandoned shores that she preferred to leave untouched.

The Lord’s Prayer was a favorite of hers.  It reminded her of the virtues of love and forgiveness and spoke kindly of the future for even the most misguided of men.  In quiet moments of internal contemplation, she did her best to remember this.

Too often she had conjured thoughtless, ceaseless dreams filled with the oddities of distant lands and foreign waters.  An infinite account of mysteries she had only imagined in waking moments at the border between rest and an imperfect awareness of being.  The telescope she had once used every night to search the stars had been retired, left to collect dust in some unattended corner.  It was nothing more than a memento of the past.

Adolescence had waned, as had many of the small, insignificant hopes she had entertained as a young girl.  Those stars were quietly extinguished one by one, replaced with the truths and realities age could no longer deny.  What was a wish to the harsh undertaking of a laborer?  To the need to fill the bellies of one’s family three times a day every day?

Edith was no fool.  She knew clearly the line all must cross in adulthood.  There was no looking back unless it was in peace and harmony, neither of which she had attained at present.

As if to cement this truth, the lingering sheen of anguish reformed upon her brow.  The dissatisfaction burned her again, and she knew not how to refuse that repast of Hell.  Instead of God, it was Satan that she sat before, dining in his hall of torment as he recounted all of her sins and ingratitude toward the life she was given.  His familiars taunted, jeering at her limp fingers and laughing when the good book finally fell into the inferno below.

The image twisted, fading back into the recesses of her mind when a swishing sound came from the door.  A pageboy had delivered one of her letters.

Her calves, sore from being sat on, protested when she climbed to her feet to scoop the folded scrap of paper from the floor.  It was sealed with her family insignia, meaning Samuel had finally decided to answer her missive. 

Breaking the wax, she scanned the text.  Unfamiliar handwriting jumped out at her, confusing her so thoroughly that she did not comprehend the words until she reached the end of the page.  There, the signature of St. John laid, innocuous as a viper sleeping in brush.

 

_Miss Richardson,_

_I hope you will forgive my curtness, but it is imperative that you return to Winfield Grange at once.  I regret to inform you that your father has fallen desperately ill from a wound sustained while riding.  In the interest of time, I will refrain from speaking more of his condition here; you will learn all upon your arrival._

_I will also ask that you please forgive me for writing to you under such pretenses.  I have no other materials at hand with which to seal this letter.  Mr. Richardson has given me leave to use his writing desk for this correspondence._

_May the Lord deliver you safely._

_Godspeed,_

_St. John E. Rivers_

A million questions raced through her mind as she folded it, numb beyond belief.

She would have to travel back at first light…if there were any stagecoaches headed to Whitcross.  Only Theophilus would know of such a thing—he was in possession of the local travel schedule, after all, and knew all additional options should that fail.

The rest of her body had gone into mechanical overdrive; her hands threw her dresses into her trunk of their own accord, packing miscellaneous items from around the room into whatever open space was available until everything was sealed away.

Within a half-hour, she stood before her cousin’s door, pounding on the wood with the end of her valise.

“I’m coming, damn you!  Let up the knocking!” he shouted, the noise heavily muffled.

When he came, rumpled and half-asleep with nothing but an undershirt and a dressing gown on his tall frame, she flung herself into his arms, allowing a sob to escape into his shoulder.

“Edith!  Oh, Edith…”

He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her tightly to him.

There were many reasons why Edith loved Theophilus, but the one that stood out most at this moment was because he knew how to handle her perfectly when she was angry or sad.  When they were children, Samuel had always sent him to retrieve her when she ran out into the moor to sulk.  He would entice her with candy and a smile then carry her home safely, not a word of annoyance on his lips.  He never forced her to talk about what troubled her, trusting instead that she would come to him when she was ready.

When she fell limp against him, her fears abated, he led her to his armchair and knelt before her.

“Theo, Mr. Rivers sent me this—“

She gave him the letter, drowning in torment as he perused it.

“I’m so afraid for Father.  I must go to Morton at once,” she said.

He nodded haltingly, growing as ashen as she.  “Good God…  I will come with you.”

“But what about your class?” she murmured, “It will start in three days’ time.”

“Nothing is more precious than the life of a family member,” he said firmly, “We leave as soon as we are able.”

The first and only coach they could take the next day departed at 7 o’ clock but bore no promise to carry them all the way to Whitcross or its surrounding areas.  There was no way of knowing what might happen if they were left stranded somewhere too far from home.

Theophilus then suggested that they travel by way of a postal carrier, which would leave an hour earlier and be faster.  Additionally, they could arrange to be taken directly to Morton if they were willing to pay extra.  The cost was expensive enough as it was, however.  Many people enjoyed employing the services of the post because their coaches tended to be cleaner and imposed a limit on the number of people that could board.  Overcrowded conditions were nonexistent, and for this safety, prices were high.

“It won’t matter.  I can cover it easily,” Theophilus reassured, “Be warned that there will be no rest during the journey—the only stops will be to change horses or deliver mail.”

“I can live with that.  Father can’t wait.”

“I agree.  Then it is decided.”

…

The next 24 hours passed in a blur.  After spending the remaining time they had left to rest and prepare, they hired a Cambridge carrier when day broke.  They would arrive anywhere from late night to early morning depending on how many road issues they encountered.

Relaxation escaped them all the while.  They sat rigidly on the hard leather seats, surrounded by her luggage on one side and mail on the other.  They were both too wound up to take even the slightest bit of rest though Theophilus attempted to get Edith to lie down multiple times.  The vagueness of St. John’s letter had belied the worst, and no matter how much they did not want to believe the situation could truly be as terrible as he had said, they could not help but steel themselves just in case it was true.

“I didn’t even get to say goodbye,” Edith murmured, “Your friends must be worried.”

“I sent word to Pitt.  He’ll let the others know there’s been an emergency.  They won’t mind a lick, Edith; they know you’ll come visit again sometime.”

“If they’ll have me.”

He chuckled.  “I doubt they’ve entertained a more wonderful guest.”

There was a moment of silence then, staked with grief and withered insecurity.  Edith could not hear anything but the pounding of the horses on the dirt path, their cries hurtling into the empty distance beyond the crest of land they had just left.  How hollow it was, that merciless sound of fury.

“It’s been nearly a week since Mr. Rivers sent this.  It must have been serious if he had to be called to Winfield.  We can only pray Father is still…”

“Don’t say that, Edith.  Don’t assume anything.  Not yet.  We will be there soon, and then we will see.  For now, keep your wits about you.”

She nodded in resignation, leaning back to stare at the dusty velvet lining the top of the coach.  The crystal line of her throat was bared to the snatches of light that came through the thin curtain at the window.

An anxious itch wired itself throughout her body until they reached the last leg of their trip.  At last, when Morton was unveiled, stripped of the mist and fog’s clouding power, she allowed herself to breathe.  Theophilus bade the driver to take a detour through a side-route that would eventually lead back to the main road.  At the drop off point, they were still nearly four miles from Winfield Grange.

When the coach stopped, Edith gathered her skirts, barreling out into the night.  The glow of the moon was thankfully very bright, quite sufficient for the upcoming excursion.

“We can come back for my things, Theo!  Come on!” she cried.

The young professor left the cases at the foot of a crag, rushing on behind her.

Neither had done this much running since they were children.  On the few occasions where they were forced to stop for a break, the lush grass engulfed their fallen forms, taking the hard condensation that formed from their breaths as payment.  The cold country air forced them to keep moving, to beat back its unwelcome intrusion in any way they could.

In between bouts of delirium and the sharp pains plaguing her sides and lungs, Edith hoped most fervently that they would not catch their deaths from this.  It would be ironic indeed if Samuel survived only to find that his daughter and nephew had been casualties of filial piety.

So when she reached the door, she stirred up the biggest racket she could in an attempt to save her cousin’s life and her own.  The door knocker took the last of her strength before she put her hands on her knees, gasping harshly for air.  Theophilus came to her aid, holding her about the waist to keep her from dropping dead away.

“Who’re thare?” a male voice called.  It belonged to Henry Clarke, the manservant.

“It’s me, Edith, with Cousin Theo.  Open quickly, Henry!” she cried.

The rugged, unshaven mien of the old man greeted them in the shade of the patio.  “Oh, Miss Edith, you’ve returned!”

Ushering them inside, he bolted the door against the hazardous weather, Margaret coming to rain a flurry of kisses on her red cheeks.

“My dear child!  You shouldn’t ‘a come in the mid of night!  It’s frightful dangerous!” she said.

“I couldn’t help it.  Mr. Rivers sent me a missive—it said that Father had been injured, so I rushed here as soon as I could!”

The two aides helped them out of their cloaks, setting up the table for them to sit.  Margaret began to heat some leftover milk and food while her husband put away his gun.

“Mr. Richardson is jus’ fine, my girl.  He’s recoverin’ as we speak!  His fever broke two days afore.”

“Wait, Margaret, what accident did Father get into?  Mr. Rivers merely said he was gravely ill from an unspecified injury.”

“’Tis a long story, perhaps you’d better hear it in the morn,” she said, handing them their plates and cups.

“Please, Margaret?  I’d like it now—a condensed version at the very least,” Edith pleaded.

The old woman smiled kindly.  “Oh, fine.  I can never deny ye anythin’.  Your poor father was out ridin’ when his horse struck a loose bit o’ rock and slipped.  Snapped his arm in half he did!  The silly old mare trotted around him until a stagecoach stopped to help—shocked your father to see that it was Mr. Rivers!  How fortunate he was to be found by him during his return from Cambridge!  He was so far from Morton that no one would’ve come across him for a long while.  Well, the parson brought him straight here and sent for the doctor.  The next day, when Mr. Richardson fell into hysteria on account o’ his temperature, my husband fetched Mr. Rivers back and he sent for you.  He wanted you to be here lest the old master took a turn for the worse.”

“Unbelievable.  Rivers saved Uncle,” Theophilus murmured, “We are forever in his debt.”

Edith nodded gravely.  “I don’t know how we’ll ever repay him.”

“Don’t say that, Miss Edith, Mr. Theophilus.  Mr. Rivers won’t be expectin’ nothin’!  He rescued the master out of the goodness of his heart.”

“We know, Margaret,” Edith sighed, “It’s just…  We’re just shocked.”

“Oh, I know.  Both of you should be off to bed now that you have something in your stomachs.  Sleep will do you good.”

Upstairs, Edith peered into Samuel’s room, watching his chest move up and down.  His stubbly gray chin twitched as he snored, making her smile.  Henry had prepared a spare room for Theophilus, which he accepted graciously before bidding her a quiet ‘goodnight.’  One look told her they both had too much to think about to allow slumber to visit.  Until then, Morpheus would simply have to wait.


	9. Tempest

"For once, I am glad to see that you are voracious as ever, Father," Edith said, feeding him a spoonful of porridge. "Your breakfast has not decreased in size."

"Margaret has not neglected to tell me that either. How odd you are, so similar of thought—I could swear she was your mother!"

"Well, she  _was_ the one who nursed me. I suppose I must be a bit of her as well."

"Now that I think of it, the clay of your make has been molded with hands far too gentle. I daresay you are entirely mine and mine alone, impishness and all."

They chuckled together, Edith patting his chest as he broke into a wheezing cough. He had not healed enough for movement let alone such rigorous chatter. His breath was short in the aftermath of the fever and was rendered even more so by the weight of his arm, slated between two wooden boards in gauze. To improve his comfort, Edith propped him up on a couple pillows, lowering the gravity of his burden beneath his breast.

After a few sips of water, he was soothed enough to resume his usual state. "I should have been more careful. You'd think one as old as I would have enough experience to ride the land of my home without injury."

"It could have happened to anyone, Father. You couldn't have known."

"I should have been more cautious. Not only have I ruined my health, but I also cut your trip short, my dear. I must apologize for that."

"Oh, it's all right. I was there too long anyway. It was getting tiresome being away from home."

"I'm sure your luggage can account for that. The washing must not have been pleasant. Speaking of which, did Henry fetch them for you?"

"Yes. I'm quite pleased that my clothes and books had survived the morning dew. I'd nearly forgotten until Theophilus reminded me."

"Good, good…" he said, stroking her hand.

Some unruly emotion played about his brow then, distracting him from her. It was in the way he shifted, the flash of his eyes when he removed them from her affectionate features that she knew the mood had changed. Soon, his touch expired into nothing.

She was left cold.

"Father? Is something wrong?"

"I hesitate to speak."

"I yearn to ease you, sir. Please tell me."

But the stern grip of indecisiveness had seeped into his bones, locking him away in a cage of his own creation. She reminded him that he must relax else he injure himself further, and he did after much deliberation.

"I am only mortal, my love. If I had died out on the moor, you would have been stripped of the Grange. If the sickness had taken me, you would have been left alone in destitution far worse than which we have now."

"But we are fine now, Father."

"You do not understand, Edith. You are not secure any longer. This…accident showed me how fragile I am. Perhaps God sent this as a sign—A sign that I must let you go."

She did not want to listen to any more. The conclusion had already settled upon her mind, shrouding her in all of its knowledge.

"Edith, if you marry before I die, Winfield will go to your husband and your children. It is not entailed to a male relative. You know this."

"I know that I do not want to leave you! There is no need. We can yet live for a while longer like this."

"In poverty?" he said quietly.

"I—what do you mean? We are not completely…"

"The business I had with our lawyer."

She clutched the front of her dress, teeth clamped over her lip. She could imagine how lifeless she looked at this moment, entombed in marble with not a drop of blood in her veins. She wished she could be dead to the world. It would return the favor in that little arrangement with ease, then she would not have to live with all of its expectations, its rules. Nothing would matter at all.

"I did not think it wise to tell you while you were at Cambridge. You had only finished your teaching," he said sadly, "I wanted you to be happy even for just the shortest time."

Edith had already lost herself to emotion. It coursed so strongly that she could do nothing but follow its path, controlled by the tide of the current like a grain of sand stolen from home. The ocean was vast; she was insignificant. Reason was no object to a storm.

Whispering a faint goodbye to Samuel, she stood and shuffled away, wandering aimlessly until she found herself at the wall at the bottom of the hill. The weathered stone shared in her grief. Cool beads of moisture had gathered on their surfaces, deepening the rifts countless others had created in sorrow. They cried as she did, though her tears were internal.

Her occupation did not allow her to hear the gate creak or low footfalls echoing across the dirt. She did not smell the tobacco on the air riding the shoulders of the man who came with it.

"Good day, Miss Richardson."

Straightening, she clutched her heart. "Oh… You frightened me, Mr. Rivers!"

"I offer my sincerest apologies. Be assured that I had no intention of doing so. I came to check on your father, thinking it best to review his case early in the day."

"Of course. He is awake and recovering rapidly at present. I will take you to him."

…

The white petals of the wild daisies scattered one by one, tossed to the ground where they caught on blades of grass or else tumbled to the mud. Whenever she reached the last one, she would drop down to the next tuft and pluck another flower, taking a step for each streak of white she littered across the green.

It was therapeutic in a way. While she studied each yellow crown, counting as many buds as she was able and comparing it to its predecessor, she did not have to think back upon what Samuel had imparted. There was no suffering, no pain. It was everything she had ever dreamed of and more. The repetitive motion drew her calm back efficiently.

If St. John had noticed anything was amiss, he had not mentioned it. A good sign if any that she had appeared normal, no? It was a foolish thought; he would not be so rude as to point out her discontent so soon after greeting her.

As he stepped out of the door, Edith dropped her daisy, brushing the pollen from the front of her skirt. He appeared to be tolerably pleased with the state of her father, for his manner indicated that Samuel was doing better than he had expected.

All she could think was that she was quite lucky Samuel was still alive. Whatever St. John had seen when he ventured onto the crumbling moor that day must have been quite gruesome—he likely had not expected him to survive.

"Miss Richardson, may I have a word?" He gestured to the breezy knolls.

"If you wish, Mr. Rivers—Oh! A moment, please." She dashed over to her shoes and slipped her feet into them with a blush. "I am most terribly sorry."

He shook his head and opened the gate, allowing her to pass first.

His steps were slow upon the vale, made deliberately so for her to accompany him without effort. Having lived with two sisters all his life, it was no wonder that he was attuned to the female presence. Men who were not often in the company of ladies tended to forget that their strides were too long and fast for someone smaller to keep up with.

This opinion changed rather drastically when she caught a glimpse of him. The stoic edge of his jaw was hard and filled with an energy that spoke of great foreboding. It prevailed on his being enough to slow his usual determination to half of what it might have been had he visited another time. Affected regions included his physical mobility, capacity for thought, and apparently his ability to speak. He had called her out for discourse, yet he did not reveal any motive for why he had done so.

Edith, feeling the weight of her newfound destitution creep steadily toward her mind during this silence, decided to break the ice.

"I really must thank you Mr. Rivers," she said.

"For what?"

"For helping Father. You saved his life and notified me of his ills. Thank you."

"I cannot accept your gratitude; any man would have done the same."

"Another might not have stopped to rescue a fallen traveler."

"Please, Miss Richardson, I am a servant of God. I endeavor to help all I can. It is sacrilege to accept thanks for doing something that is right."

"As long as you are aware of my gratitude, then I have no complaints—but you must stay for dinner tonight. Perhaps Mary and Diana can come?"

Edith sidestepped a cluster of blooming vines, skipping to rejoin him at his side. A few children played in the distance, their shadows tripping charmingly over the long fields, teasing the shadows that ran past their figures.

"I will see that they receive your invitation, but before I accept, I must inform you of my second reason for visiting Winfield."

He spoke so deeply and commandingly that she stopped from the force of it. They stood in the dark below an overhanging cliff of sandy stone, the jagged products of its decay scattered about the surrounding undergrowth. The shade consumed them—him even more so; it absorbed the black of his clothes until only his white cuffs and collar could be seen bobbing with his pallid head.

"It has come to my attention that you are in possession of a number of traits that coincide harmoniously with my own. Within those that do not, I see a greater purpose, a higher delegation which would benefit most tremendously were you to offer your talents to it. You are thoroughly perceptive and keenly logical. Even your heart beats coolly, dominated by the pursuit of thought rather than the fickle pleasures of our modern world. It is these characteristics that persuaded me of our suitability as man and wife."

The ominous cessation of his…proposal cracked down on her like a whip. For the second time that day, Edith was hurled into a state that required her to question her future. A convulsion of dread and fear erupted from the center of her soul at the barest thought of marriage—such a man as St. John Rivers would  _not_ dream of proposing if he knew of the financial state of her family. Not even his holiness would allow for her lack of wealth.

The dawn of this new beginning had been eclipsed by gray. St. John appeared so bland, so colorless to her then that she could not help but remain deaf and dumb, her strongest emotions withered by the flurry of Samuel's earlier revelation. There was nothing of her left, and therefore, little to give in light of the ruin her prospects had fallen to.

It was her indecision that spoke. "I am…surprised, Mr. Rivers. I did not expect this upon coming here today."

"You do not deny the truth of what I say."

She would not pick his argument apart until he heard her first and foremost contention. "I have no response except that I must ask you to reconsider, Mr. Rivers. You do not want to attach yourself to my house."

She lowered her head, unable to bring herself to acknowledge his inquisitive stare.

"Your meaning is not clear. Explain."

"Father has told me we are in poverty. The details of how or to what extent I regret to say I am uninformed, but his manner was quite grim. I can only assume the worst. Because you have offered yourself thusly, it is my duty to warn you of this unfortunate state of affairs."

How Samuel ever expected her to find a husband was absolutely beyond her—clearly, he meant her to wed below her rank…perhaps with the farm as a tentative substitution for her dowry. It was not enough to entice the Rivers, the only clan of like station, and now, newly bequeathed with fortune. It was no secret that Jane Eyre had divided her inheritance amongst the three siblings and that it provided well for their estate. Any of them could attract a far better selection of spouses exclusively outside the confines of Morton. Edith, for all the good her noble blood would do her, was included in this partition.

"A woman in your position might not have acknowledged such a fault in the face of a proposal."

"It would be dishonest any other way. I would not trap you by giving my consent. What would happen if you were to find these things from my father after the match had been made? It would be shameful."

"Your fears are unfounded, Miss Richardson. I will not retract my previous declaration. All I ask is your answer."

"An answer? Surely there are a number of other points which you should object to if not this. I bring no dowry with me, Mr. Rivers, no land for your family. I have no connections. You would make a poor teacher your own?"

"You avoid the matter. You exchange superficialities for the depth I see in your spirit. Money is no object to me. In acquiring you as my wife, I will have gained far vaster resources of ingenuity and industry—things wealth could never buy. With you, I may fashion myself the perfect woman, the perfect mirror of my soul."

"You seek to create?"

"No, I endeavor to shape what has been given."

"Then what of my faith? It is not to the standard of yours."

"I know you yearn for God. You see the grace He gifts upon us, and do not deny it as others do. Upon marriage, you will become my flesh, my blood. Your being will combine with mine. You will have my faith and I will have your humanity. You are capable of seeing into man, of finding things that I cannot. Our shortcomings are well-matched."

"These things you speak of are my best qualities and you hold them with such high regard. When the day comes that I disappoint you, what will you do with me then?"

He frowned. "Disappoint me?

"It is inevitable. I am not so perfect—and I cannot aspire to be. You cannot be so sure that a bond between us will work with such success."

"I am content in my understanding of what I know of you. You will grow and adapt to my need. There will be nothing else. Did I not tell you to believe?"

"You did, and I cannot help but doubt. It is natural and human."

"Then allow me to persuade you in another vein: tell me that you do not ache for something more than England. Tell me you are not  _ambitious_."

He was wrathful for he shared that same propensity. He gleaned no satisfaction from servicing this small, unknown corner of the world. There were lands that remained unexplored by western man, places that St. John could have seen and scourged of ignorance. In that way, he would know the heart of an adventurer, and at last, be able to call it his own. The restless energy pent up from long years of disuse would take wing, expending itself in an environment where sloth would no longer be an option.

Edith heard the longing in his voice and with it, the warmth that he had held away for so long. It unearthed itself from embittered depths, finding comradery in her, the only other person who could perhaps understand. Her latent displeasure and troubled confusion was the same as his when he was a younger man of fresher youth and unpracticed ways. That turmoil ensnared him, the man who had entranced the guiles of hundreds, and made him hers.

And she paled. Her callous suitor saw it in her eye—the flicker of flame that betrayed her misgivings with the Lord, the countless prayers asking Him of her role in this world. Time had not brought them to waste, no, they had compounded and brought every single useless wish of purpose and belonging to the fore. Would she not share in his glory, his wealth of experience if she were to accompany him? If she were his obedient helpmeet, would she not also serve God to her fullest potential and touch the velvet sky she had dreamed so fervently of in years past?

The thought, delicious as it was, softened her stance. She swayed like a leaf in the wind, carried by the gale that was St. John, and his countenance broke in triumph.

"God has provided you with a new direction, shielding you from all danger. You would not have seen what you did at the concert hall if not for Him."

"…And yet such purity as that of the Lord must come with a price," she said softly.

"Do not all things? What you said that day—He was warning you away from the road you now walk. I recognize this and to save you, I claim you entirely. Reroute your passions to Him, show Him where your love lies and all will be revealed. I will be your guide."

She trembled at the strength of his words, the last dregs of that merciless timber rebounding about the rugged grove. It drew her to pause at great length, the last of her diminished defenses lowering in quiet surrender.

St. John sensed this shift in mood, realizing victory was as eminent as dusk was to day. He approached with a confident gait, holding out a gloved hand for her to take.

Instead, she turned the other cheek, stealing the one with resignation away from his view. "If you are to be my shepherd, what then of a husband?"

It was a challenge, and yet, not one that questioned the validity of love or even the requirement of its presence. She refused to think of it; it had no place in this discussion.

"I shall fulfil both roles in equal parts as you will in yours."

But as she stared up into that uninhabitable void, he provided no further answer. He himself did not know of such things nor perhaps even believe his own words. Did she not know him well? Well enough to separate his truths from his lies?

It was an injustice that she had not the leisure to deny him. If only for her father, if only for those old, unyielding hopes she had once discarded, she would dream again. Heat, once released, could not return to its original state. She would dissipate like flame in a widening ford. Spring would rise from the dead of winter and birth the new Eden at freedom's expense. In the canvas of her imagination, it was a garden of wonder, delights such as that of newly-wedded bliss and all the joy it would bring, if only for a short while. To hazard a guess at how long it would last was something Edith could not bear to do.

Perfection did not exist on earth, and with all things, Eden was destined to fall.

"I can but marry you now," she said, "However, I must ask that you learn the entirety of my father's debts before you take my word."

A string of fate wound itself about her, and above, she imagined that a black sun looked down to consecrate her vow.

"If it shall grant you a peace of mind," he said humbly, "And you will come with me to India?"

"Would I not?"

He descended upon her like an archangel from the mouth of heaven. The devout armaments of his coat and gloves captured her then, wrapping like wings about her fallen form. He appeared to be a divine being sent from God, offering shelter from a life of exile and abandonment. No cruel mischiefs played about her thoughts any longer; she laid her ear against his chest, believing she might hear waves crashing on an unguarded shore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SURPRISE SURPRISE, KIDS! Did you see that coming? He did it, the madman, and he wasn't rejected this time around! On another note, St. John really needs to learn how to talk to people, especially when he is in the process of "wooing" them.
> 
> Please note that I am thinking of upping the rating soon. The wedding is coming up, and I will likely include intimacy between St. John and Edith as a mark of how their relationship progresses.
> 
> How many references from his proposal to Jane can you spot? Please leave your thoughts, and I hope you enjoyed! ;)


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